


The Translation in Blood

by NothingTame



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Het, Kink Meme, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:53:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 37,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingTame/pseuds/NothingTame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannah Shepard and Turian Councilor Sparatus have a history that stretches back decades into the First Contact War. Behind Commander Shepard's life and trials, her mother follows her own path into fate and love and the strains of both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 2013 MassEffect Kinkmeme's People's Choice Award for Best Het Story Without Shepard as a Main Character
> 
> SPECIAL THANKS TO SPICYGNOME! This lovely person found my story and has been adopted as my beta. She's helping me fix all my typos! She deserves hugs and virtual kisses, so send all your thanks to her. Thank you, SpicyGnome! You're a treasure and a half.

"I told you not to look into it."

"Mom-"

"Look, I know what's going on. Will you just be thankful it's happening and stop questioning everything?"

Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose, an echo of her mother's very expression clear across space and into another system. She even caught her hiding it through vid-com. It was hard not to smile at it. The war could tear apart the galaxy, but mothers and daughters would still have their moments.

Cortez had pointed out what he had thought was a glitch in the procurement database; hundreds of items were loading up through the Normandy's interface at half of what they were going for directly in the stores, in particular the stores based on the Citadel. Shepard had spent the last three hours trying to figure out if it was the symptom of a greater problem (an undetected virus affecting ship computers or communication hubs, or someone simply screwing with her head), when her omni-tool had blipped with a message from rear admiral Hannah Shepard.

After patiently listening to her daughter protest, the admiral had simply put her foot down.

"Leave it be. I know what's happening. Think of it as a gift, there's nothing malicious behind it. Alright?"

Shepard grumbled something.

"You want to  _repeat_  that, soldier?" her mother barked.

Training won out over genetics, and Shepard snapped to attention.

"No, ma'am." She blinked at her mother's image. "Hey, that's cheating."

Hannah's cheek dimpled, a smile so like her daughter's, and she gave a little nod. "That's my girl."

"Is this where I make a joke about you being a 'rear' admiral?"

* * *

 

Hannah Shepard looked nothing like an Alliance soldier, let alone an admiral. She was short, topping off at barely five feet, bright eyed and beautiful, with a laugh that rang like a bell and a smile that lit up a room. It was effortless how her charm could sway the hardest and how the hardest would melt beneath the light of her reason and playful laugh-lines.

The commander inherited nothing else from her father but her height, teased in her adult years for being a 'stretched out version' of her shorter, curvacious mother. It bothered neither of them that Shepard looked nothing else like her father; he'd left the picture before she'd been born.

Hannah stepped out of the communications cubicle, nodding to a guard who snapped a sharp salute as she passed by. Undoing her stiff collar as she walked to her quarters, Hannah let her mind wander to the puzzle presented to her daughter ... and the answer it pointed to.

_Shanxi._

She hadn't let her mind dwell on the old war in days, for once caught up in something so much bigger than her memory and the events that shaped everything she did. To separate a place from the experience wasn't easy to do, but when the experience was so wrapped up in a person as piercing and as sharp as he-

A soft chime rang through her quarters; her personal data console lit up in one corner. She had a message.

Without even realizing it, Hannah had sat down on her bed and stretched out her legs, lost in thought like she swore she wouldn't let herself do until this war was over. But war had a way of making you regret things and remember what it was that had been so important decades ago.

She sat at her desk and activated the monitor, automatically queuing up the message.

 

* * *

 

_Inquiries have been put on hold. I don't know what you did, but it fixed the problem. Thank you for your discretion. I'm sure the councilor would be grateful._

_Please let me know if there's anything I can do._

_Yours in service._

_Arinia Veritas_

_Personal Assitant to the Turian Councilor_

* * *

Hannah gave a small, sad smile. Discretion.

Yes, she could be discrete.

Her memories followed her into her dreams that night, as they always did, and like usual, she resisted the temptation to let alcohol drown them out.


	2. Chapter 2

It was 2157, the sun was hot, and Lt. Hannah Shepard was praying her arm would just fall off.

_At least then I could pretend I could sprint without falling over. Maybe find cover. Maybe not die of gangrene..._

At least the pain kept away the guilt and the abject feeling of failure.  _There was that._

She struggled to concentrate on just putting one foot in front of the other, ignoring the prod of the pistol at her back, the resonant muttering that was beginning to put her teeth on edge. To make matters worse, the stupid little device fucking up her arm was still trying to work, interlaying her captor's vocals with gibberish and static. It was giving her a headache.

Hannah had only been on this rock two weeks before the Relay 314 incident, driving home her belief that it was just safer to live on a ship and travel the stars, staying one step ahead of the brass, getting out just a little bit further away.

Humans in general could adapt to most any climate, given time and resources, an increase in both upping the odds by quite a bit, but Hannah didn't have either to spare at the moment. She didn't know about the Turian behind her, but the sun was taking its toll. Or maybe her arm really was infected, and she had a fever.

Her hands were bound behind her back, bending her arms at the elbow, shoving that crappy piece of tech where nothing so rigid was supposed to go. She was fairly certain that was blood dripping down her fingers, blood making her uniform stick to her skin at the inside of her elbow.

She swears to this day that if he hadn't have shoved the barrel into the inside of that goddamn arm when she stumbled, none of this would have ever happened.

The woman skittered sideways and into the skeleton of some tree, ripping at her hair and scratching her unprotected face before she fell into and on to the ground. A stream of swear words poured from her lips as she landed on her injured side.

She was still swearing when the growling, trilling, bird-shaped bastard crouched over her to grip her shoulder and roll her over, the stark white lines of his features glowing in the shadow of his form, the suns setting behind him. The beta tech in her arm flared with sparks and heat this time, peppering his words with high-pitched feed back that had her gritting her teeth to keep from screaming.

She'd never been so thankful to pass out in her life, and that's including when she gave birth to her ten pound little girl.

* * *

 

It was dark and blessedly cool, a solid surface at her back and a breath of wind in her face.

Droplets of water were tapping lightly at her parched lips, her tongue darting out to taste them. The liquid succeeded in rousing her, forcing her to open her gritty eyes and stare into the face of the spikey-headed monster that had caught her.

She was too tired and sore to resist when he took her good arm and pressed a canteen into her hand, placing the opening at her lips and gesturing sharply for her to drink. Not needing to be told twice, Hannah took a few careful sips. It was then that she noticed her hands were free.

And her legs were not.

The cuffs had been adjusted to snap around her booted ankles, leaving her arms free of both bonds and, apparently, jacket. It felt good to be in her sleeveless under shirt, but her arm still hurt like hell and-

She jerked as something jabbed into the inside of her arm and the shitty piece of equipment that had gotten her into this mess to begin with. She whipped her head around to find the Turian pinning her wrist to the floor with one knee, his hand pressing her shoulder to the wall while his other pushed talons-

_Talons?_

-into the seeping wound on the inside of her elbow. The flesh around it was swollen and red, unbearably tender and oozing liquids that looked distinctly unhealthy. He had removed the armored gloves she knew he sported earlier, using the sharpened tips of his talons to tease the implant from the muscle it was lodged in.

After watching for several nauseating moments by the light of some kind of synthetic torch, Hannah had to look away and close her eyes, concentrating on breathing through her nose. She probably shouldn't let him have the damn thing, but with it reacting as badly to her biology as it was, it would more like as not kill her if she kept it in any longer.

_Besides, it was their technology. It wasn't like they'd learn anything new._

She felt the casing slide free, gasping as the searing ache faded and the static between her ears completely eased away. Her good hand pressed the canteen to her head, fighting the tears of relief that threatened to pour free.

The Turian gave a low whistle, holding the thing to the light as he turned it this way and that. When he turned to look back at her arm, he ran a finger across the angry flesh, voicing an inquiry that sounded like a cross being soft growls and rumbling syllables. His brow-bits rose at her, waiting for her reaction as he gave a nice, deliberate poke.

His question was fairly clear:  _Does it hurt when I do this?_

She couldn't hide the sharp cry or the bodily jerk she gave, scowling at the creature as she heard the unmistakable ripple of a chuckle.

He was laughing at her.

She contemplated spitting in his water when he drew away and turned to his pack, rummaging about for something in the dark. She knew her glare probably meant nothing to him; he was massive, had a good two feet on her, and had taken her down without so much as a scratch on him.

Not that it stung her pride or anything.

She'd been in transit to the main part of the colony to test the new Turian translation device they'd attempted to adapt to human physiology, hopping a ride by surface shuttle to control central, when the Turians had come over the barricades in full force. Shot down and thrown over the main wall, Hannah had been the only survivor of the four in the vehicle, and under the cover of the assault, she'd run for her life in the wrong damn direction.

To be fair, she hadn't considered that the chunk of requisition office in the smoke had been thrown there, but it still wasn't an excuse. She'd let panic get the better of her, and if she hadn't, she'd have made it to cover inside of Alliance ground and would never have gotten captured.

She had run for almost two days, too far behind enemy lines to get back, and those damn Turians could see in the dark. So she'd made for an alternative route behind the battle-lines, hoping to get around the explosions and sneak in the back way. It would have taken a few more days, but as long as she'd found water, she'd be fine.

She hadn't counted on being followed. She'd left no trace or track of herself, she knew better than that, but she must have done something, left something, for him to follow, because one second she was high in a tree, belted in and dozing, and the next she had a three-fingered hand around her throat and a gun in her face.

She was brought back to the present with the touch of cool gel against her arm, bringing a hiss to her lips. The Turian field dressed her arm with surprising finesse despite his probable limited knowledge of her anatomy. Bandaged and somewhat cleaned up, he secured her arms behind her back, ignoring her wince of discomfort.

Then, with a glow that made her flinch, he accessed his holographic mobile interface and began to type away, before touching his ear and proceeding to speak.

From what Hannah gathered, the conversation didn't go very well. Despite the species barrier, some things still carried through; his posture was suddenly stiff, his tone sharp and distinctly angry. Someone wasn't getting their way.

When the communication ended, he turned to look at her, leaning against the cavern wall, dirty and disheveled and exhausted, she was sure. The mandibular protrusions on his face fluttered, almost agitated, like he was weighing a decision.

The cave he'd found was fairly secure, a shallow enclosure that was just deep enough to hide them from eyes and weather. The suns were just below the horizon, twilight long since fled before the purple velvet of night. Gazing through the cave opening, Hannah whistfully thought how beautiful it was, and how maybe she'd come back here and show it to her daughter ...

 _Bad, that's bad, Hannah,_ she thought abruptly, closing her eyes and thumping the back of her head against the stone wall.

She'd been warned about that, about serving in the military while being a mother. It wasn't that it made you a liability, but it was one more vulnerability to overcome. That love was something that surpassed orders and rank and honor; you'd do anything to make sure your child was safe. She tried instead to feel thankful that her little girl was light years from here, safe and sound and back on Earth.

With a deep breath, she pulled herself together, just in time to feel something brush her cheek.

She didn't mean to flinch as hard as she did, managing to lift her chin and look up at her captor as he drew his fingertips back to his face. Confusion made her frown, before she understood what he was looking at.

In her relapse of emotion, tears had slid down her cheeks. Not many, but enough to be noticed. He seemed ... interested by this. She didn't imagine Turians could cry, though he didn't seem surprised or shocked by their presence.

He voiced a question, a flurry of words and a tilt of his head. She made a face at him, then replied flatly:

"I don't understand you, you spikey-assed bird-thing. I don't knw why you bother when it's not like you can understand me eith-" And then she felt stupid.

Right. The translators.

_Fuck me in the eye._

She must have been worse off than she thought. A slow inhale and she was back to her center, focusing on staying alive and being in the moment. Running five steps backwards without knowing where she was would only get her killed. And that couldn't happen.

She fixed the Turian with an angry glare, and grit out a question of her own.

"How long are we stuck here?"

He seemed to give her credit where credit it was due, in that he didn't regard her with suspicion or check her other arm for a working device. Instead, he pointed at the horizon and lifted one finger.

A whole day.

"Yey," she muttered. Just swell. "Where are you taking me?"

He pointed back towards the colony, arm steady and unerring.

She swore.


	3. Chapter 3

It was standard procedure to brief newcomers to colonies on the local wildlife, at least the more dangerous creatures, to ensure mishaps to a minimum. Generally, the 'shoot first, ask later' policy was acceptable in an emergency, but didn't go over well if the critter was cute, fluffy, young, harmless, rare, endangered, valuable, or an understated form of sentient life. In the beginning, when space exploration was new and humanity knew next to nothing about the new planets they discovered, they depended on scout drones to collect as much data as possible and report back to the Alliance, and then, once a colony was founded, they simply taught it to every incoming human and so on.

It was the only reason the sound of scales on dry dirt snapped Hannah into instant alert mode.

The Turian had done his best to get her comfortable, for whatever reason, although she suspected it was a perverse reminder of how completely at his mercy she was, and how easy she'd been to capture. He'd bolted a ring to a lower part of the cavern wall for the cuffs around her wrists, and another for a tether that bound to her ankles. It made it easier to sleep, curled on the floor, but it also made it impossible for her to escape. Instincts told her that if he'd intended to hurt her, he'd have done it sooner and have never been so ... accommodating. It seemed Turians had some measure of honor. Maybe. Although it appeared they were worse at the 'shoot first' policy than humans at this point.

She was dozing, cheek on her arm, laying on her belly when the scrape of movement caught her attention. Eyes snapping open, she immediately located the Turian across the cavern, sprawled in the back against the far wall. He was sleeping, breathing shallow and facing her, one arm tucked under his head, the other gripping a pistol. Quickly noting that it couldn't have been him, her gaze darted around the cave for-

Ah. There it was.

The blaze chameleon was known to be a fantastic creature, beautiful and sleek and a rainbow of reds when it wasn't blending expertly in to the surroundings. It was small, only about ten inches long from nose to back legs, trailing another ten inches of tail behind it. It was stealthy, slow moving, the only give away that same tail being drug across the ground; only the trail it left in the dirt could visually give away its location.

What was especially neat about this fellow, not only was it a predator for bugs and amphibians and the like, but it had no problem taking out bigger prey to feed its whole colony. One individual would slink out and use it's quick, potent, barbed tongue to sting, immobilizing animals as large as elephants into waking paralysis before calling in the family to come in and have dinner.

Despite this, however, the blaze chameleon had a high body temperature and was easy to spot via thermal scan, and even easier to keep away; it hated loud noise and apparently the bustle of a metropolis easily qualified, and the human outposts and colonies were prone to both. Still, as the only real animal danger on the planet, it was good to know the signs before you wound up a living buffet, with only the halls of your mind to scream in.

Those tell-tale marks were appearing in the dirt not four feet from Lt. Shepard, heading, bizarrely, for the Turian snoozing on the ground instead of the more fleshy bound, immobile human.

And now, Hannah was presented with a dilemma.

His death would probably make things easier in some ways, and there was no doubt in her mind she might figure out a way to get free of her bonds, high- tail it to the colony and figure out a way to get back in. But she had no idea how long any of that would take, and short of chewing through her arm, it would take a while to work the bolt free of stone. Even then, unless she intended to crawl, travel was going to be impossible.

And then there was the chameleon and all his relatives.

No animal alive would pass up a free meal, let alone two. She was all but certain that even if they waited until after they'd picked his bird bones clean, they would still zero in on her and treat her to the same fate.

It wouldn't be anything personal. The rain seasons were coming and some animals had a lot of mouths to feed.

_Ick._

Decision made, she carefully sat up to the best of her ability, took a slow, deep breath, then let loose the loudest yell she could manage.

He was on his feet in a minute out of what had seemed a dead sleep, gun aimed at her, head whipping around. She pointed right at the trail in the dirt, shouting, "SHOOT RIGHT THERE! NOW!"

To their mutual surprise, he didn't question her. Shot fired, air burning of ozone and cooking flesh, he strode over to the smoking corpse not two feet from where he'd lain; known minimum barb distance for the blaze chameleon.

They were both breathing hard, Hannah closing her eyes in relief that it had all gone so well.

_God, that could have been terrible._  She tried not think about how fun it would have been to bite through her wrist in an effort to not be eaten alive.

She heard a soft, questioning rumble of syllables. She cracked open an eye to see him looking at her, gun pointed at the twitching lizard. She made a face at him.

"You can't look it up?" she grumbled at him. "And while you're doing that, cut a girl a break and let me sit up." She shook her manacled wrists against the bolt.

Grumbling under his breath, he moved to her and released her from the wall, taking a step back to scan the animal on the floor and tap in a few inquiries. Reality settled into his features, the imperceptible widening of his eyes and rising brow registering all kinds of surprise. Apparently, he wasn't quite as thoroughly briefed as she was on this deployment.

Maybe she'd blame it on the dehydration, or hunger, or the crappy bed, but she couldn't help what she said next.

"Just because it looks a little like you," she mumbled at him cheekily, "doesn't mean it's a friend."

His shoulders went stiff and he shot her an angry glare.

"And the proper response is, 'Thank you for saving my life'," she told him, legs curling under her as she sat up, settling her back against the stone.

* * *

 

He didn't try to communicate with her too much after that, showing a prickly manner compared to the acute professionalism the day before. She didn't care; it was hard not to feel the tiniest bit smug about saving his life. It was obvious he wasn't stupid and wouldn't forget it either.

It was getting warm again even within the confines of the cave, but there was a cross-breeze coming through from the mouth to whistle softly through a low opening in the back she'd missed the night before. It made the heat far easier to handle than out in the blazing suns and Hannah was not about to bitch about it.

The wait was both nerve-wracking and boring, if that was possible. While she felt oddly safe with her captor, her future was uncertain even on the ground, but she imagined the odds would be much worse once she was airborne and within the Turian fleet. Rules of war aside, she didn't know what to expect. She didn't even know if she was supposed to be afraid. The calm that had settled in her bones was an anchor she clung to despite how irrational it seemed, but in the end, she decided it was better than being panicked and terrified.

He'd given her more water while he had snacked on one of the rations he had, then moved to stand at the entrance of the small cavern. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was staring up and at the horizon. His back was to her, and as she shifted again to get more comfortable, she took the moment to look at him unguarded.

He was tall, easily seven feet, with broad shoulders that tapered down into a wasp-thin waist, flaring out to supportive hips balanced on well muscled legs that flared spurs at the knees, rooted on digitigrade legs. He wasn't as heavily armored as the soldiers she'd seen at the outpost, boasting thinner, flexible stuff that was both non-descript and matte; light didn't just avoid the stuff, it was practically absorbed into it. If he wasn't so mellow, the entire impression would have screamed, "assassin".

But then again, a good assassin didn't give the impression that he was anything but shadow... Although that still didn't make any sense. Assassins didn't follow single targets into the wilderness without knowing who they were, and experimental tech aside, there was really nothing strategically valuable about Lt. Hannah Shepard. Hell, her presence on this rock was practically a fluke.

Every now and then he'd shift, look off into the distance to the north, and then back again to the west. She was beginning to wonder what the blazes he was looking at, when she heard a distant echo, low and deep like thunder, and then a tremor through the ground.

"What the hell-" she began before she could stop herself, eyes going wide.

He glanced back at her over his shoulder, expression unreadable (but that was hardly surprising) as he stared at her for several long moments. He returned back to whatever it was that had his attention, shifting again but this time clearing his throat in what was definitely discomfort or anxiety or something. Whatever it was he was looking at was making him uneasy. That did nothing to help her own nerves.

The distant booms and resulting tremors continued off and on for the rest of the afternoon, driving Hannah crazy with curiosity and the first real trickles of fear. What was happening to Shanxi? Did they set off a bomb... or bombS? Was this even related to the fight? Was it a natural disaster?

Several times, she saw the Turian go stiff and drop his hands to his sides, only to bring them hesitantly back up to cross his chest. The ... jaw thingies on his face would flicker rapidly during these moments, a sign of anxiety she was coming to recognize.

She could only stare at his back for so long, however, and the heat and immobility eventually lulled her into a doze. Her dreams were fretful and agitated, visions of a toddler stamping through the dirt, people the size of ants scampering around her feet...

 


	4. Chapter 4

She was all but yanked to her feet some undetermined amount of time later, her ankles freed and her body shoved hard towards the darkening cavern. The shadows were growing deeper, which was weird because the twin suns still glared a good hand or so above the horizon-

The growl of the Turian had become a shout, he was practially in her face and hauling her backwards. Everything about his body language told her he was scared shitless and she didn't have the presence of mind to disobey. Without warning, he was stuffing her into that hole in the ground at the back of the cave, ignoring her yell as she began a free fall slide down stone into blackness.

She didn't know how long she tumbled, rolled, and sometimes scooted, but she took his angry, short growls and clipped words to mean she had better hurry the fuck up if she didn't want to get trampled or maimed. Eventually the lava chute leveled out, but there was a tremor in the walls around her that told her to move even if the verbal prodding behind her had gone silent.

Wrists still bound, she felt along the walls and trusted her feet as best as she could, but after the fifth knee-bruising trip she yelled at him to give her some kind of light. There was an amber flare over her shoulder; he'd accessed his implanted interface.

The light wasn't much but it was better than nothing, sparing her knees as the two of them scrambled single-file down into the endless cavern. When there looked like a chance to go up, he would bark at her and slam her shoulder down, forcing her to scoot deeper into the tunnel and down into the earth.

It couldn't have been more than ten minutes, but damn it felt like an eternity. After a while she was beginning to wonder what was really going on, when the ground heaved beneath them.

There's really no better way to describe it. One moment, they're on their feet running through the dark, the next, the ground wasn't there and they were neither falling nor thrown; they were floating.

And then gravity remembered them.

The stream of words from both of them could have scorched ice when they both tumbled, plummeted, rolled, as the earth opened up and swallowed them whole.

* * *

 

Trickling water. Pressure on her shoulders. And back. Actually, there was weight pressed all along her spine and across the back of her hips.

Were her eyes open? It was hard to tell. Was there just no light?

A groan resonated through her ear when she tried to shift, the flutter of something rigid and textured against her cheek. Face down, her cheek pressed against wet stone, her arms were folded under her, immobile from the weight of the Turian laying on top of her.

A scrape of flesh on dirt, arms drawing in around her as the pressure eased off. She was pulled effortlessly up and rolled over, a mutter in the dark that clipped into what she was rapidly recognizing as a curse. There was a flare of amber light, brighter in the pitch black they were encased in, and she saw his alien face outlined in the shadows he created.

He'd pulled her over his thighs, looking her over, starting from her legs and traveling up. He seemed surprised to see her blinking in the light, pausing for an awkward moment before nodding at her and twitching one brow plate upwards.

He was getting good at this non-verbal communication.

She nodded back to him, mumbling, "I think I'm alright," before struggling to sit up.

He helped her before standing carefully himself, lifting his arm to peer around. Hannah winced as she stretched sore parts, felt for scrapes or bruises in the dark. Despite the free fall from hell, they both appeared relatively uninjured.

It was hard to see, but the sound of water gave her hope that they weren't completely trapped. _Girl Scouts, spelunking 101: where there's water, there's a way out. Usually. Most likely._

She caught a flash of green when the Turian turned away from her, blocking the light with his bulk for a moment. With a hiss, she pushed him lightly with her bound hands and whispered, "Turn it off a second."

Without a sound, he flipped his interface inactive.

She couldn't help herself and gave a soft laugh. "You Turians do make good soldiers. Never question orders, do you?"

For a second she thought she'd offended him, but then she caught the low rumble of returning chuckle. It made her smile in the dark.

Soon, her eyes began to adjust and she looked around for that flash of green. Keeping her bound hands on his lower arm, she took a few steps over and leaned towards the sound of water.

There it was again. What was that?

Still keeping a grip on him, she carefully wandered forward, shoulder brushing the wall of the tunnel, inhaling sharply when the strange green light revealed an opening in the dark.

Phosphorescent lichen or moss coated the stone here, spreading out into a cavern like it was lit with green starlight. It clung to the floor and outlined strange rock formations, and skirted the edges of an underground stream that sank along the wall. Hannah gave a soft laugh, hearing the sound echo and triple around her.

She thought of her daughter, and wondered if she'd live to tell about this.

Her laughter faded, making her painful, slow inhale loud to her ears.

She whirled around to look at the Turian behind her, embarrassed to see him looking at her face so intensely. She pulled her hands from his arm and raised her wrists to his eyes.

"I'll move better if I didn't have these," she told him, lifting her chin and glaring up (and up and up) at him.

He didn't respond or budge. He hardly even twitched, but she thought she saw a flick of movement from his exposed jawline. Still, the silence stretched out for several long moments.

He hooked a finger into the opening between the manacles, voicing a question that was both soft and serious, peering at her, white markings across his face glowing green.

And while she still couldn't understand him, there was something about his tone that had her blushing. She was never so grateful for the dim light as she was right now.

What she said was, "Still don't understand you, bird." There was another one of those jawline twitches, but she pressed on. "But if you're worried about escape ..." She huffed. "Look around you. The war is far, far away from here, from this place, and right now we don't even know if we're going to find a way out. Our best shot is to work together, and that means-" She shook her wrists at him. "Trusting me enough to let me loose."

Again, he said nothing.

She continued anyway. "And besides." She stood on her toes to get as close to his strange, alien face as she could. In the glowing light, his eyes looked so very green. "You. Owe. Me."

He remained silent but she could tell he was thinking it over. By the time he moved, the arches of her feet were killing her and it took every bit of her strength to keep from shaking on her toes. With a deft movement, he pressed a few points at her wrists, twisted a talon into some unseen opening, and the cuffs snapped open. He caught the bonds before they fell, folding them in on themselves and tucking them some place out of sight.

She didn't remark on this as she rubbed at her sore wrists, nodding her thanks. She jerked her chin at his inactive interface arm. "Are you going to show me what happened?" she asked. Free from her bonds and settled into an unexpected truce, she felt bold, and weary, and tired of being in the dark.

To his credit, he hesitated for a moment before lifting his arm, keying it up and accessing a video program. She wrinkled her nose in confusion.

"You had time to record it?" she asked. He shook his head and mumbled something, point at the transparent screen hovering over his wrist.

It wasn't this planet, that much was sure, but the ships orbiting the planet were unmistakably alien. Turian, no doubt. She watched as several shuttles hauled bits of orbiting debris, satellites, asteroid material, even a broken freighter, swung it around on a series of pulls, and loosed it towards the surface of the planet.

The video switched perspective to some place on the surface, a good distance from the intended target. The impact was astounding; something the size of a skycar could reduce a city-block into a crater, and the Turians could do all this without expending hardly any energy at all.

By the time the video ended and his interface keyed out, she was breathing hard.

"That's what they're doing, isn't it?" she whispered to the dim lit figure next to her. "That's what they're doing to Shanxi?"

His silence was enough, but he gave a small nod anyway.

She passed a hand over her face, ignoring its tremble. Well, she had to give it to them: it was an ingenius way to put down a surface city, if completely inelegant. Low cost, minimal damage to themselves and their equipment ... as long as chunks didn't break off on the way into atmo-

She frowned. "Was that what happened?" she asked him, her tone sharp. "Did something hit us?"

He grunted and glared somewhere past his shoulder, a flurry of angry syllables pouring forth as his mandibles flicked out once before drawing in, tight and rigid. She filed that away as the 'mad Turian' look. It seemed he was almost as put out by the technique of his fleet as she was, but she wasn't about to push their new partnership; it was still too new.

The subject was changed swiftly as they did a quick inventory of what they had. Scrounging about where they'd woken revealed two bits of luck: his pistol and survival pack. All of his camping equipment was probably smashed into bits a mile above them for all they knew, and they marked that as a loss.

Access to water was a big save for them both, but especially for her as she had nothing to eat as of yet. Exploration of the stream revealed it was hardly more than a trickle, but Hannah hoped it would lead to a bigger source and maybe even some kind of underwater, edible something-or-other.

Actually, the idea of a pool was incredibly appealing; she hadn't bathed in days.

That gave her a surge of energy to cling to, as it was more likely than finding food at this point. He showed her a bunch of rations she had, but experimentation proved to be a bad idea; the tiny nibble made her promptly throw up, and he only just missed getting vomit on his boots.

When it was obvious there was nothing else to look for, they made the unanimous decision to follow the little trickle of water to see where it led to.

In the meantime, while their feet were otherwise occupied, they talked.

Well, she talked, and he pretended to ask questions she understood. In the beginning he tried to trade words, teach her a few in his language, but it proved impossible; the creature had subvocals she couldn't dream of reproducing. If she were honest with herself, though, his voice was incredibly pleasant to listen to er, analyze. Yeah.

As easy as it was to slip into some kind of relaxed comraderie, she still kept in mind that he was technically the enemy, and she his, and any information she gave him could be used against her species. But she figured it was alright to talk about her childhood, life on Earth, human customs, and especially her bouncing baby girl.

"Eh, I shouldn't call her a baby anymore," she said with a soft laugh, stepping over a twist in the growing stream as it wandered in her path. "She's almost three, and for humans, that's six times bigger than where she started."

This got her a scoff and a few questioning words; he didn't believe her.

"It's true!" she passed her hand across some of the glowing lichen, feeling it tickle her palm, organic texture against cool, wet stone. "I don't know how to describe a pound to you, but..." She considered it, then turned around, making him backpedal a few steps. She blinked; she hadn't realized he'd been that close behind her.

She cleared her throat, then reached for his pistol. "May I?"

He gave her a look that was impossible not to translate:  _Do I look that stupid?_

She rolled her eyes at him. "Look, it's a weight reference. I'm sure the thing has a safety lock, just key it up. I'm not about to kill the only company I have right now." To prove her innocence, she stuck her tongue out at him.

Warily, he pulled out his pistol and did something to it that made the thing chirp and pop a red light, before handing it to her.

She hefted it experimentally, considering the rig, and then, true to her word, gave it back to him. "That's about a pound. A unit of weight, if you will." She didn't know how sophisticated his translator was, but she figured it'd be best for the both of them if she could be as clear as possible.

"A human infant can weight between five and nine of those, give or take a few pounds." She beamed at him. "My daughter weighed ten when I gave birth to her. And that was natural, right through the pelvis." She patted her hip with pride.

He stared at her. And then let his eyes wander her from head to toe, before settling very obviously at her wide hips. He tilted his head at her, drawing what appeared to be a triangle in the air, the widest part of the shape spanning from her hip bone to hip bone. Then he held up his hands and made the shape of a circle in the air with them, fingertips touching. He eyed her hips, and then looked back at the space between his fingers. And then back again.

Well, that answered that question.

Crossing her arms very deliberately over her chest, she leaned against one glowing cavern wall and considered what his actions revealed to her.

Live-birth with placenta-mammals wasn't a phenomenon confined to Earth, this much humanity had learn from their relatively brief explorations of space, but it was still uncertain if sentient life in the galaxy had a similar birthing process. From what she had surmised, this was definitely the case; there were other species out there besides Turian, species that shared similar DNA structures and body shapes, maybe even physical appearances.

That was why he'd stared at her tears. He'd seen them somewhere else before.

 _Imagine that,_ she thought. Another sentient race that knew the value of tears.

"I take it Turian babies aren't nearly so big then, hmm?" she said, lips twitching into a wry smile.

He shook his head and pointed to his gun, then held up three fingers, then six. Three to six pounds. Little things. He gestured to her hips again, then pointed at his, said a rapid collection of syllables where he mimicked something being stretched. The motion he made at her hips, with a much larger radius of stretching, came with a waggle of brow plates so comical that it completely brought down her guard and made her laugh.

"Mmm, yes, well... flesh does seem to be a bit more flexible, than... whatever you have under that armor, doesn't it?" she chuckled, before she reined in some of her courage and took a step forward, ready to say what was truly important in the here and now.

"Look ... I know that this truce of ours can end in a big mess through no real fault of our own, but ..." She sighed. She should have been a diplomat instead of going to officer school. "Turians are the first species humans have encountered that are sentient. The relay we found in our system was a dormant block of ice, and we had no idea what we'd find when we went through it." She fixed him with a look, putting every last bit of her sincerity into it, ignoring how tired she was, or how hungry; if this was where peace was going to start, she wasn't going to blow it now.

"Are you the only ones out there besides us? Are there more races? More cultures?" she asked, hoping for an answer she would understand.

His eyes lit up as his head tilted, regarding her with an expression she couldn't quite recognize at first. His mandibles had flared apart just a little bit, and he growled a few words before giving a small, careful nod.

Hope burst hard and sharp in her belly, and when she threw her arms up in excitement, he gave a startled laugh.

Apparently that gesture was universal too.

More races meant more perspectives, which meant hope that this stupid misunderstanding ( _because, god dammit, it had to be a misunderstanding, it's the kind of thing that started the best wars_ ) had a chance of getting untangled. She said as much too, and it made her feel all kinds of giddy when he nodded in agreement.

And then she laid all her cards out on the table.

"I know we can't talk about it right now, not until I find something to eat and regain my composure enough to not sound like a prepubescent girl, but I'd like you to explain to me ... what we did wrong. Or are you going to tell me that your people didn't fire on us first?"

He went very still at that, tilting his head the other way and taking her in again. She could almost see the gears grind behind his eyes.

She caught herself just before she hugged him, when he finally gave a slow nod.

"Well, hot damn, bird. We might just fix this whole mess on our own."


	5. Chapter 5

Hannah was getting a little worried by the time they got to the underground lake, and then, she forgot what she'd been so anxious about.

They'd had to squeeze through a glowing chink in a wall, sideways, with enough grumbling and grunting to make them both breathless with swear words. If it hadn't been for the increased brightness outlining the cavern beyond, there were several points Hannah wanted to just turn around and find another way out. For almost a hundred yards, they inched and squeezed towards the light, the ripple of water echoing around them and about ten yards out, the sound became motion, liquid shadows on the wall all about.

Stumbling free of the rock's embrace, they both took a moment to inhale deep and hard, straightening carefully to take in the sight before them.

Glowing green, blue, and the new shade of soft pink, the lichen and moss chased patterns across the walls but especially through the high cavern ceiling far, far above them, arching over a lake that seemed to stretch out for miles.

Clear, impossibly clear, the water rippled from droplets that fell from massive stalactites high above. Phosphorescent light reflected itself back across the distance, making it brighter here than any they'd seen so far.

It was breathtaking.

The sigh they both released made them glance at each other, each giving the equivelent of a small smile before looking back out again. Hannah even forgot to feel hungry for a moment, but she nudged his hip anyway.

"Scan for anything edible for me? Life forms too, while you're at it; I don't want to get eaten by anything crawling out of that lake."

The amber glow of his interface seemed out of place here amidst such beautiful, natural light, and he seemed to think the same thing as he closed it as soon as he could. He murmured something and pointed to a smaller pool several yards away.

"Food?" she perked. Her stomach growled. The Turian raised amused brows at her, then nodded.

Scampering over, she noticed that the light lining this particular pool was much brighter, and in it she could see pale, sheer green weeds growing in the water. And flitting about them-

"Please," she mumbled, "Please tell me the weeds are the food, and not those. Please."

There was a whuffle of laughter behind her.

"I knew it," she sighed.

A little bit later, eyeless fish with far too many legs as to seem natural were skewered and set to cook in the handy little portable heating unit the Turian had in his kit. If she weren't so hungry it would probably have looked creepier, as it was she was just going to have to deal with eating something that didn't have eyes.

It was impossible to keep their eyes open, nothing but food and good scenery on their plates. No captor, no captured, no war, no responsibilities but surviving. Hannah was worried about her daughter, but it was a balm of solace that she was safe and so far away from all this.

They agreed that it was best to treat each other as partners until they could get out of here, and it was hard to distrust someone you laughed with and owed your life to. The one sided communication was a little irritating, but they were working around it. Especially now that the Turian was showcasing his secret talent.

While her meal cooked he had taken a moment to examine the wall by the little pool of fishy things, staring at the solid glow of green lichen with a strange tilt of his head. After a moment, he pulled off one of his armored gloves and flexed his fingers, then began to carefully scrape at the stone.

In the wake of his talons, black lines emerged, sharp against the green. She was sitting on the ground, ankles crossed with her legs stretched out, leaning back on her hands, watching. After a minute or so, she realized he was sketching the image of a relay. A reverse image too, the black lines the dark, shadowed places, the light green left in place to catch the gleam of ancient metal.

"That's really good," she murmured, smiling at him when he turned to look at her. He seemed almost surprised to find her watching, gave a half shrug and checked on her meal.

She was looking on it now almost an hour later, belly fully of strange meat, eyelids heavy. It was hard to forget the first time you saw the massive relays, so unexpectedly wonderful, mysterious, advancing their technology as a species at a pace that was dizzying. They could explore as far as they wanted to, see past suns and stars and nebula that before they'd only glimpsed through telescopes...

She was mumbling this to her new friend, trying not to nod off.

"...to know... we aren't just pioneers, but a small piece of a bigger picture, rising to meet others that can show us ... so much..." she mumbled. He rumbled a reply, sounding far more awake than she, but he was still chewing his rations. She sighed and lay back, looking up at the cavern ceiling with its own little universe etched into it, greens and blues. It was so very beautiful.

"We aren't all soldiers," she continued, arms pillowing the back of her head. "Some of us get to be artists, or poets or writers... the lucky ones get to be just parents, mothers and fathers to beautiful children ... little girls with sharp eyes and clear voices and bright laughter... never needing to know what a gun is ... " Her eyes were closing. "You birds seem so good at it, though, the fighting ... took us by surprise... which is funny..." She gave a soft laugh, just as sleep came up to claim her. "It's usually humans in the stories that make the rash, fatal choices ... that pull the trigger and reap the repercussions later..."

Sleep claimed her quick and hard; she didn't even feel him draw up the blanket around her shoulders.

* * *

 

She woke up to the same soft brightness of glowing lichen, stretching her limbs quietly and looking about for the Turian. He was sprawled on his back, pistol nearby, not four feet from her. Her lips twitched at that, and she didn't know if she should feel offended that he felt the need to sleep so close, or pleased that he felt that comfortable with her.

What a strange pair fate had made of them.

She didn't know how long she slept, she couldn't resist looking at the clear glowing lake again, plucking at her dirty fatigues and wondering if she dare risk a swim. Glancing down at her company, sleeping soundly away, there really wasn't anything else to do.

Quietly as she could manage, she walked to the bank and stripped down to her dog tags, pulling tangled pins from her hair, letting loose the long, thick coils of braids. It was her one true vanity, she'd admit it freely. Her hair hung in deep waves to almost her knees, a feminine expression not often found in the military. It was the one thing she'd refused to give up, a facet of herself that she felt she didn't need to sacrifice. So she hadn't.

It made things a bitch in combat training, but she'd learned a few tricks to keep it up and tucked and tightly put away.

Now, free and loose, it felt so good to get those damn pins out of her head. She started to wade into the crystalline water, feeling the bite of a chill but not much more, and dove in.

After days of dirt and sweat and heat and anxiety, it was blissful to float in that lake made of green, living starlight. Years and years from then, moments of dread and fear would fade beneath the memory of the long, long hours she spent drifting on her back in that lake, at peace with the universe, content with her lot, the water cradling her in cool, sweet solace. She'd float on her back and then roll over and swim towards the shore and their makeshift, spartan camp, then go back to drifting and floating. Time was swallowed up here, aimless and purposeless, but finally, worried that her skin might prune off, she submerged one last time and swam in long, underwater strokes back to the bank.

Her hair fell in ropes around her shoulders as she drew from the water, reminding her that she had a long hour of untangling ahead of her. But before that, she gathered her clothes from the rock she left it on and brought them back with her into the water to do something about cleaning them.

Slamming them against the rocks and ringing them out was a noisy affair, and she apologized to the Turian who wandered over to her while she worked. Bare skinned and still wet, she didn't feel the least bit uncomfortable; military life rubs the self-consciousness of nudity right out of you, and Hannah was no exception.

"I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable," she told him during the last rinse, ringing out her pants and her skivvies last. She gestured to her body, breasts covered by her long hair pulled over her shoulders. "I have to sit around and wait for these to dry too."

He seemed ... intent on her, curious, she'd guess. He didn't seem too keen on the idea of swimming, and she was tempted to ask if it was a issue of body density, but thought better of it. She didn't want to know anything remotely like a weakness about his kind.

Just ... it was better that way.

He was perched on a rock that rose a little higher out of the water, kept him safe from splashing but gave him a good view of what she was doing. When she waded over to a nearby boulder to lay out her stuff to dry, she sat next to him on his rock (there was ample room), and went about untangling her hair while the water evaporated from her skin.

Within minutes, her teeth were chattering.

Before she could explain to him what this meant, he had a blanket around her shoulders.

This surprised her.

"How did you know to do that?" she asked, blinking at him as she coiled her damp hair and pinned it to the back of her head, before drawing the thermal blanket tight around her.

Now he looked guilty. And very hesitant. But Hannah was nothing if not patient.

When her shivering ceased, he pulled up his arm and queued a video. In it, a distinctly female silhouette was revealed to be a creature, a woman, with blue skin and violet eyes. Unlike the Turians she'd see, this woman bore an amazing resemblance to human women, with five fingers to each hand, a protruding nose, two eyes, lips ... the only difference, besides coloring, was the way her head sloped back into what looked like tentacles, or horns, much like the spikes that grew out of the Turians' skulls.

He rotated the image and showcased her many similarities, then queued up another image of a female physique. Here, her legs were bent back, two-toed, but her body had a similar shape and build to humans above the thigh. But she was masked, a helmet over her head and a hood draped around it. Hmm.

"Are those the females of your species?" she asked, guessing the answer. He shook his head.

The third image was of a Turian, without a doubt, with broader hips but slimmer chest and shoulders to the one sitting and breathing next to her. Elegant, very graceful, and very sleek.

"Oh. So... Those... blue women. They're like us? Like me?"

He gave a shrug, then gestured to her teeth, rubbed his upper arms and murmured a few words.

"They get cold like us, sensitive to temperature?" Again he shrugged, but also nodded. It was the best he could do with her limited comprehension, so she let it go. "Do they cry like we do?" she asked, remembering the other day when his fingers caught her tears.

Again he nodded, albeit slowly, almost wary.

"Interesting," she murmured, taking this in.

When her clothes were dry and she was dressed, they packed up their gear and considered their options.

According to the scans he'd taken, the lake went for miles, and directly across from them was an opening in the rock that had an ascending slope. Water-formed, most likely, as there were several echoes of moving water in this place. It was the best place to begin looking for a way back to the surface, if there was one. A few formations on the way around held some promise too, but not as much as that singular upward opening.

It was a long way around the lake, so Hannah cooked a few more of those fish things to bring with them. She was looking for something to wrap them with when he gestured to the sheer weeds growing along the remaining living fish.

She shot him a dirty look. "Are you saying those are edible?"

His mandibles fluttered it what she was quickly recognizing as a smile, eyes bright with mischief. She punched him in the arm. "Really? REALLY?"

His whuffling laughter made her smile, though, and she shot him a few good curses as she wrapped the fish in the water-weed.

She insisted on carrying half of their gear, arguing that if he got the gun, she could get his rations. It made him laugh again, and she decided there were worse things in the galaxy than a Turian's reverberating, resonant laugh.


	6. Chapter 6

Their trek was surprisingly easy. The bank along the lake was worn smooth by time and water, less damp than Hannah thought it would be; well lit by the ever present glow of bio-luminescence. He took the lead and she followed, watching her feet as her eyes weren't nearly as adept at seeing in the dark as his were. She snacked on fish as they moved, their easy pace requiring little rest. The pools of more critters and vegetation to eat sprang up here and there, and they made a point to stop at one when they were too tired to go further; it was hard to distinguish night and day, though the Turian probably could with his interface.

They'd eat and then talk, she with her mouth and he with drawings on the walls. Then he'd toss her a thermal blanket and pull out another for himself, they'd sprawl on the springy moss, gaze up at the cavern and fall asleep.

They traveled for two days around the lake. Hannah remarked that his computer was broken, it had to be a lot bigger around than he'd originally thought.

Companionable silence marked much of their journey, and she didn't feel discouraged by it; they both had a lot on their minds, no doubt.

She, for example, kept puzzling over how easy it was to work with him. It was the kind of team work you found in well-trained platoons or squadrons, when you'd had habit and command and training drilled into you every day from dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn, with no one to watch your six but the brothers and sisters at your side. There was no one outside of the corps. That was it. End of story. Period.

He -the Turian- gave orders with gestures as often as she did with words, and even now, a few days in to their survival, they barely needed to direct each other anymore.

Still, no matter how comfortable they were together, there was still one thing nagging at the back of her head.

They'd just finish their end-of-day meal, he was cleaning out his cooking unit before packing it away. She waited until the device was carefully stowed, watching the line of his shoulders for the tell-tale slump of relaxation she'd begun to keep an eye out for. It happened usually right before he started to draw.

He had just picked a new glowing canvas when Hannah launched herself at him.

With her face right behind his cowl, the Turian couldn't turn or see her expression as he snarled in surprise. He was quick, though, long ass arms reaching up and around to claw into her shoulders and yank her over. Her yelp as he scratched her skin made him aware that she wasn't really trying to hurt him, demonstrating this by withdrawing his talons but keeping a good grip on her when he slammed her to the ground.

He was quick, but she was quicker.

And more flexible.

With a twist of hip and a kick that made his eyes go wide, she dislodged herself and flipped back to her feet, running right at the wall he'd been staring at moments ago and taking one, two, three steps up and along it to get back behind him and dive for his legs.

It was mostly a vanity move, but it had somewhat of the intended affect; he gaped at her for a half second too long.

She kicked in the back of his knee, following him as he went down to trap his neck between her thighs ... only to find herself unable to do that with that damned cowl of his.

"Fuck!" she swore, just before he gripped her arms, rolled over, and slammed her back into the ground.

She swore again, wriggling underneath, trying not to laugh.

His face lowered to about a centimeter from hers, and suddenly it wasn't funny anymore.

He was breathing hard, mandibles pulled in tight but front teeth bared. And he was heavy. Damned heavy. And scary.

But even though she was afraid, she scrunched her face up at him and gave him a panting smile. "Trying to make up for being so easy for you to catch the first time," she explained breathlessly, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "Nothing personal, wasn't trying to ... seriously damage." She yiped pathetically when his hard arm ground into her knees, still banged up from the fall through the earth. "Shit- OKAY UNCLE-!  _Fuck_ -" she gasped.

He slid off of her with a snarl, pulling her with him as she hobbled to stand. "Figures it be a non-combative injury that has me cave in... God, I need to work on my hand-to-hand if it was this easy even with catching you off-guard..."

She's mostly mumbling to herself as she plops on a sturdy rock, yanking up her pants to examine the damage like she hadn't before. Her knees are scraped and bruised, but unbroken. Still, it made walking a bitch that she'd managed to stay quiet about ... until now.

A packet of something is tossed into her lap. Hannah recognizes it as the medicinal gel he used on the inside of her arm. Come to think of it ...

She looks at her arm, noticed it completely healed. Hardly a scar, and zero signs of festering.  _Well, I'll be damned._

She considers the packet and looks up at him, watches him roll his shoulder and mutter under his breath. She winces and shakes her head, offering it up to him. "No. I'm not depleting our stores because I was stupid or you saved my life. No, keep it for something serious. Like food poisoning." She tosses it back to his feet, then strips down to her underwear and wades into the cold water.

It's a relief so profound she sighs, ice cold water on angry flesh. It felt so good-

She's tackled from behind into the shallows, a naked Turian dunking her mercilessly underwater before lunging out of reach and slinking beneath the surface.

Hannah comes up spluttering, cursing, and laughing. "Okay, I deserved that-" she chokes, whirling around to look for her assailant. The water is absurdly calm, and she's puzzled that she can't see him; the water here only comes up to her thighs, and her legs are much shorter than his-

Ah, there, a shadow moving, still in the shallows, underwater and quick. He was crawling along the bottom, too heavy to swim but strong enough to move with an eery, serpentine grace. He's fast, she can't see him again-

And then her leg is pulled out from under her.

If anyone was in that cave, anywhere for the miles it spans, they'd hear an echo much like:

"GOD-*splutter* - _DAMMIT_ -!" accompanied with a series of angry splashing.


	7. Chapter 7

Hannah had inadvertently stumbled across what was apparently a Turian norm and social lubricant: the act of play-fighting. Much like the youngsters of predators back on Earth (and across the galaxy, most likely), 'sparring' and 'play-fight' were interchangeable to Turians, and while in the cave she had guessed at it being somewhat of an everyday thing for him, she learned later that it was a lot more than that.

Maybe it was the universal language inherent in touch, or the enjoyment that came with true fun, or the innocence in playful antics, but it seemed to her that there was more being said than their usual one-sided conversations. Both of them couldn't stop smiling, or laughing, or, at least on Hannah's end, swearing.

The guy had reach like she couldn't believe, the water evening out the playing field as far as speed, and while she could cheat and swim out where it was deeper and he couldn't stand, there was zero fun involved with that. No, she preferred trying to beat him at his own game, even if she was failing horribly.

After about the tenth dunk, she managed to wrap her legs around one of his arms and her arms around his neck, clinging like a monkey as she cackled in triumph. He couldn't hold his breath long enough to get her to dislodge, and though he was stronger than she by far, it would have defeated the fun purpose if he waded to the bank and tried to scrape her off on a rock.

Eventually, the playing toned itself down to spashing, and then from there to demonstrating different talents inherent with the species of each: he could climb across the bottom with a speed that struck Hannah as creepy (it made her think of vids she'd scene of octopi gliding over reefs to lunge at some poor unsuspecting critter), and she could float for as long as she wanted without effort.

Then by accident, mostly, it evolved into teaching fighting techniques.

Her opener of jumping on him in an attempt to redeem her pride came up, and she complained about his advantage in having experience with fighting something similar to her, as was apparent by his excellent use of ... well, everything she tried... against herself. He seemed to consider her backwards compliment, made a decision, and showed her how to defend herself against him. And then attack him.

She actually made him stop half way through the third demonstration, holding up her hands and bobbing backwards in the water.

"Look, I ..." Her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip, a nervous habit she couldn't surpress. "I know we're supposed to hate each other, and fuck, if the shit hits the fan, we may be forced to fight each other someday, or others like us. Are you sure you want to teach me this stuff? Not that I wouldn't be grateful, but..." She let the sentence trail out.

How was she supposed to finish that?

 _...but we're friends now, right? It doesn't seem okay to show me ways to kill your species._ She opened her mouth to say just that, then closed it again. She didn't need to say it, not by the look on his face.

He responded to her with rumbling words, full of thought and consideration, and an eventual nod. It sent a flutter of relief through her belly and a smile on her face.

"Okay. Well, since you showed me a few things ... I think it's only fair I return the favor. For the sake of balance."

He gave a shrug and then a nod;  _Sure, if you really want to._

So she showed him her favorite headbutt.

"Not all humans are as short as I am, which I'm sure you noticed." She stuck her tongue out at him when he laughed at her. "Most are in fact taller than me, and that's what makes this my favorite move to demonstrate on new recruits." She took them into water that stopped at his hips, then pointed to the middle of his chest, about where his sternum would be if he'd been human.

"This isn't vulnerable to you, is it?" she asked first. At his negative, she pointed to the same spot on herself. "For us, it's a pretty good target, with the right force it can send any human of any size to the floor, and even kill them if you do it sharply enough. It has a lot of names, though most refer to it as the 'solar plexus'. Since most humans are taller than me, it's the easiest, most unexpected target for me to go for, especially as a woman. It actually makes us marginally better hand-to-hand combatants, at least for the opening move; men tend to posture before they make a strike, and women typically do not." She lowered her head and leaned forward, and thumped the middle of his sternum with her crown, explaining how the power came from her body below the neck, blah blah blah. She was pretty sure he knew enough about headbutts to put it together himself.

He did seem to find this all interesting and continued to listen to her, tilting his head this way and that, leaning down to watch her move from a different angle. She showed him how if an opponent was a little taller than her, she could add a jump to her manuever, otherwise it worked on just about anyone she'd paired up against.

"The other thing... well, hmm..." she began, pausing to step back and eye him a moment. "Oh. Oh.. Yeah, you have another advantage we don't."

She waded into the shallows and beckoned him to her, until the water was just above her knee. She eyed his waist, and then his hips and the obvious absence of his genitalia. Hannah understood pretty quickly what was up, and loosed a low whistle.

"Evolution is an amazing thing; human males have their sex organs on the outside of their bodies." She grinned at his bark of laughter, his disbelieving exclaimations.

"It's true! It dangles between their legs like berries on a branch." His amusement was infectious, and she laughed with him. "Right, see, a lot of us women feel the same way; even a bad hit to the balls will make a man curl up and fall over. Nature was a lot smarter with the creation of the likes of you and me." She put her hands on her hips though and eyed his pelvis, curious.

"So ... ah ... do you keep it all tucked inside?" She started to lean down, trying to see.

She heard a snort and looked up at him. He was grinning and gave a nod, gesturing to an opening that was almost a seam, right above the juncture of his thighs. It made Hannah think of other creatures that kept their bits internal unless they ... ah ... needed them. Reptiles, birds, mammals ... it definitely made sense, especially if his people evolved with such a tough looking epidermis. Obviously, they must have needed such protection, making her wonder what kind of world his people came from.

Really not thinking about personal space, Hannah's curiosity took over her hands and she brushed his hip, noting his flesh to be tougher, harder than hers. She wondered if it was sensitive as she felt the texture of its surface, tracing across his hip and down his thigh. It was then that she noticed his thick hide shift and move, in particular that seam he'd gestured at before.

"Oh- did I hurt you?" she asked in alarm when he took a startled inhale and a quick step back. "Hey... why is your skin separating? Are you okay?" Her tone grew baffled as he continued to step back into the cold water until it lapped at his sternum.

He shook his head at her and flared his jaw bits at her in a grin, but she noticed they quivered a little when he drew them back in. Maybe he was cold?

"Wow, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," she said, brow furrowed in concern. "Are you sure I didn't hurt you?"

He shook his head, cupping water and sluicing it over his head, rubbing his hands into his face.

She shrugged at him and smiled back. "Okay then. That's enough soaking for me today, anyway, before I do anything else stupid," she said cheerfully, trying to let go of the awkward moment, inwardly yelling at herself for being so forward. God, what if she'd offended him?

She retreated to the bank, stripping her undershirt from her torso and laying it out near her other clothes, pulling off her panties and doing the same with them; it wouldn't be the first time she'd let herself air dry before bed. Habit had her hand stray to her chest to check for her dogtags, only to find them missing.

"Crap," she mumbled, glancing into the water, wondering if they'd come off in there. Logic, however, reminded her she'd been flipped over and backward and thrown into the floor before her swim, and it was more than likely then that she lost it. Naked and damp, she wandered over to the cave wall that bordered the edge of the lake,where she'd first attacked her Turian. Their antics had ruined the growing lichen, the surface marred and scraped. There was a brief flash of guilt over that before she started to look for her tags.

She crouched and brushed the cave floor with her hands, scurried along the edge of the wall and retraced their steps. At one point, she was facing away from the lake and, tired of kneeling on the ground, had bent over at the hips, one hand braced against the rock as she leaned over to peer into a jagged crack that ran along the bottom.

"Ah-ha!" she breathed, fingertips stretching out to snag the chain, metal glinting in the crevice.

Just as she snagged it, there was a noise behind her, bringing her head up to look over her shoulder as she retrieved her necklace. The Turian stood about four yards from the edge of the water, looking to have stopped in mid-stride, staring at her with mandibles twitching.

Without intending to be provocative, she blinked at him and straightened slowly, trying to figure out if there was a danger she didn't see or something.

"What?" she asked warily.

Almost unconsciously, she pulled her long hair over her shoulder, trying to peer down her right shoulder-blade before looking back at him.

"What?"she repeated, anxiety fading to irritation. _Why is he looking at me like that? Is there a cave spider or something on my back?_

He let out a loud exhale, straightened his spine, turned on his heel and marched right back into the frigid water of the lake, not stopping until it went right up to his throat.

_The hell..._

"WHAT?" she called after him, completely baffled. "What is it?"


	8. Chapter 8

The Turian-

_-and dammit, do I wish I knew his name-_

-stayed a little distant the next day, making Hannah wonder more and more if she really didn't do something wrong.

That morning, worn and sore and still pretty tired, she hadn't bothered with braiding her hair. She finger-combed it free of tangles, having let it loose to dry while she slept, and simply bound it up into a long, free-flowing tail, too lazy to bother with it even though she knew she might pay for it later if they rolled into anything gross.

She'd slept naked in her thermal blanket and was sitting on top of it as she fiddled with her hair, smiling at the Turian as he roused on his own and rolled over in his own bed. When he spotted her, she said, "Good morning!" cheerfully. His usual reply was to nod and rumble a pleasant sounding series of syllables, but today he did neither.

Sitting up, he stared at her for almost five solid seconds, saying nothing, before standing up and donning his armor.

They broke down camp pretty quickly, the fastest she could recall so far, dressed and ready to go in less than a half hour. She tried to ease some of the tension she was feeling with a little humor, saying, "No dawdling today, hmm? You got a date waiting, bird?"

He snorted but otherwise remained silent, handing her her share of the load before hoisting his own on his back. He gestured for her to lead on, and, with a puzzled frown, she did.

There was no talking today. Mostly there was walking and looking and the Turian tapping busily at his glowing interface, keeping one eye on the path she picked out and one on whatever the hell it was he was doing. Several times, Hannah tried to trip him up and climb over a few large boulders, going out of her way to at least distract him away from his computer, but after he neatly stepping over the damned things without so much as an upward glance, she gave up.

Even when they paused in the middle of the day to eat and rest for a little bit, he still almost completely ignored her.

By the time they stopped for the night, Hannah was pretty concerned.

She tried to give him his space, busying herself with the mind-numbing, idle-consuming task of putting a few dozen braids into her hair. Such activities were a common late night luxury back in her youth, when her only worry was school and friends and what she was going to do when she grew up. She found comfort in it now, letting her mind wander and dwell on anything but him.

Mostly, she worried about her daughter, missing her, wanting to see her again. She was in good hands, her mother and father lived in the same city she did, but while it had been a good arrangement so far, the more Hannah traveled the stars, the more she wanted to bring her little girl with her. The ships were pretty spacious and many families traveled together on military ships, in particular the ones that were for exploration and not battle. The more she considered it, the more she liked it. She spent the next long moments contemplating a mental checklist of everything she'd need to do to have that arranged, succeeding in distracting herself from the awkward discomfort between her and her traveling companion.

When she'd tied off the last braid, the Turian broke his ... whatever it was... and plopped down next to her on the ground. It took her so off-guard she nearly jumped.

He gave her an amused glance, then gestured to her left arm, demonstrating that he wanted her to hold it out. She blinked at him but obeyed, simply relieved that he was talking to her again. Sort of.

He pulled her arm out of her jacket and swabbed her lower arm with some of that tangy, skin-tingling gel that had healed the same arm before, but this time only using it on the inside of her fore-arm. The skin there was unmarred and smooth, and she had about a second to wonder what he was planning before he pulled off his glove, gripped her firmly at the elbow with a low, warning growl, and cut sharply into her skin.

Her face contorted in pain and shock, staring at him with an expression of abject betrayal when he leaned close to her face and emitted a soft, soothing sound that can only be described as a purr. His eyes locked with hers, calm and gentle, so she shut her mouth and swallowed her protest.

She did whimper a quiet little, "Ow," but otherwise held still and silent.

The fact that she could see the approval on his face told her more about how well she was beginning to read him than anything else did, and she tried to focus on that while he butchered the square inch of flesh just below her wrist joint.

 _I can tell when he's irritated or worried, happy and pleased or laughing. I can read the lines of his body when he's tense or ready to pounce, or relaxed or tired..._ She tried to feel impressed with herself, but it deflated fairly quickly when she began to understand the depth of his advantage over her.

 _If what he was trying to show me on those vids were correct, he's been around people like me, humanoid faces and skulls and emotions, skeletal structures that are pretty much as sapien as mine..._  She crinkled her face at that realization.  _Well... damn. I must be an open book to this bastard._

She tried not to let herself wallow in this, but another thought occurred to her that perked her up a little.

_Maybe that was why he was so quick to trust me... He could read me far better than I could him, and let's face it, I never would have relaxed around him if he hadn't around me..._

Her train of thought was abruptly derailed when she felt the cold, hard surface of an object he was attempting to embed into her skin. Now she did complain, all but ready to yank her arm out of his grip when he felt her tense, looked her in the eye, and then jerked his chin towards the inside of his own left arm.

Panting a little with pain, she glanced down, and noticed a scar in the exact place on his arm that she was going to have on her's. She blinked at him, comprehension beginning to dawn. She considered him for a long moment, then gave a small, careful nod.

The next hour was fairly excrutiating, a mix of emotions and sensations that had Hannah fairly sweating by the time it was over. The hand he had on her to hold in place had queued up his interface, allowing him to see scans of her body that she didn't know he'd taken. -! She managed to glare at him a little for this invasion of privacy, but it was a handy bit of information to know; she could have guessed that the tech was capable of that, but it was fascinating to actually see what it could do.

She felt it when he connected the physical interface into her nervous system, a zip of electricity that made her fingers twitch, a tingle in every tendon that sizzled strangely between her knuckles. That was when she really understood what he'd given her, and oddly, felt a strange, small surge of disappointment amidst the jolt of excitement.

_It's not a translator, then. Damn._

Holding the edges of her cut flesh together, he applied more of the medicinal gel to get the wound to clot and seal somewhat, before binding it up with a tight bandage. She lifted her arm, tried to flex her wrist but stopped when he rumbled a warning. She looked up at him and frowned, wondering how it worked and asking him so.

He put away his little collection of tools and washed his hands off with water from a canteen, drying them swiftly before sitting at her left hip, just behind her. She could feel his bent leg press against her lower back, unconsciously leaning into it as he reached around to lift her left arm with his right hand, lifting his own left arm parallel to hers.

He held up a finger-

_-watch-_

-turned his left arm so that the inside of it was facing upward, then reached out with his right hand to trace a brief symbol into the air just a centimeter or so above his flesh, right above the faint scar. On command, his personal computer interface manifested and lit up with an amber glow, complete with input board across his arm and the import/export interface resting in the palm of his hand.

Her eyes went wide and she squirmed in excitement.

"Show me!" she breathed.

He only had to demonstrate the activation twice before she got it, a flicker of movement above the inside of her arm that was so quick that it was almost impossible to see. With a strange, brief tingle, she giggled with glee when she uploaded her personal omni-tool for the first time.

They stayed up for hours adapting it to her liking, the Turian showing her how she didn't need it to speak her language or know her alphabet for it to work, how it was intuitive and easy to navigate. It had a storage system that completely blew away anything her species had, and an upload time that astounded her. He taught her how to access the recording program, video and audio, where they were usually stored and how to bring them up. He showed her how to access other omni-tools within the area, how to hack into someone else's interface and fiddle with settings, steal data, or, with the right program (that he didn't give her) cause pain.

"Wow," was all she could say when she absorbed all that.

He showed her how to do scans, showed her the difference between a discrete scan and a scan you didn't need to mask, demonstrating that the only difference was speed. She used that program to check out the terrain ahead of them, noting that tomorrow they would finally leave the lake and head into what appeared to be a canyon, albeit narrow, that had a steep incline that she hoped would get them to the surface.

She grinned at him when she figured out how to use that particular program. He showed her how to increase the range of the scan to its limits, showed her where things that were too distant but gave off particular signatures, like technology, energy, organic life-signs, certain minerals, heat, etc., could act as a compass and guide her to a closer proximity until her omni-tool could pick up specifics.

In the closest she'd heard him give to a throat-clearing sound, he explained to her through a series of gestures and one hilarious imitation of his accidental demise (and her usual bout of twenty-questions), that he was giving this to her in case something happened to him and she was out there on her own. She gaped at him; he was probably violating security protocols by the dozens just to ensure a measure of her safety.

Hannah found herself very touched, a swell of unexpected emotion bubbling up in her chest.

"This is so wonderful," she finally declared, turning her head to grin at him, her face radiating gratitude. "It's a fantastic gift you've given me, bird. Thank you."

And with that, she impulsively kissed the only part of him she could reach, in this case, one of his external jawbones.

That purr he'd emitted before resonated through him again, although with a lower pitch and a vibration she could feel from their close proximity. Beneath her lips, she felt his mandible flutter against her skin. With a blush that she was sure seared her hair, she yanked herself backward with a flurry of apologies.

"Oh- dammit, I'm sorry, I did it again-" she began, before his hand gripped the back of her hair, tangled in her braids, and pulled her back into him to brush the edges of his mouth across the soft, full shape of her lips.

A kiss from an alien was the last thing she expected when she woke up this morning.

It sent a shock of lightening down her spine, her eyes going wide in surprise as she all but gaped at him, her blush burning through her cheeks. When he drew back, she could see the color of his eyes, belying his avian features with a beautiful display of amber around the iris that faded into hazel, blue, and an outlining field of green. They were the kind of eyes you'd see back home in the face of a beloved stranger.

Again, she noticed how somethings transcended species; his pupils were dilated, his eyes glittering warmly in the white, glowing lines of his facial marks, like burning, green embers in a pale mask.

It took her breath away, and before she knew it, she was smiling.

He seemed pleased with her response but didn't press it further, letting her hair go and pulling back his hand, but not before the back of a talon gently stroked her cheek. He stood up and gave her one last amused set of syllables, before turning about and walking back to his gear, leaving Hannah in a state of bemused meditation.

She didn't join him for their usual swim that night, but it didn't seem to bother him. She sat on her blanket and alternately stared into space and fiddled with her new toy, though the latter was just to hide the fact that she really couldn't stop thinking... or looking at him. She'd glance at him now and again, wading through the water and periodically submerging. She wondered when she stopped thinking of him as alien and foreign instead of elegant and admirable. Her friendly affection notwithstanding, she never really considered ... caring for him. It had simply never occured to her. Was it even possible?

It didn't seem so unusual to him, and that in itself told her even more about his culture. Were cross-species relationships a common thing among his people? Or did they even have the inclination to care about such things? The history of her world spoke volumes about the fear differences amongst her own species could wield against each other, and it fed the hope in her heart that maybe there was a peaceful way out of this mess after all.

When he strode naked from the water, she abruptly found herself busy with her tool again, trying very, very hard not to blush. Yesterday, they'd frolicked in the lake practically naked together, uncaring about such things as modesty or clothes, and now ... now...

She turned off her interface while he dressed, too flustered to say anything as she all but pulled the blanket over her head. Her mind was so busy that night that she barely slept at all.


	9. Chapter 9

The next day, the pair would never admit it, but any outsider observing the two would swear they smiled more. They didn't touch or brush each other in some ridiculous, romantic display of discretion, but their banter flowed freer and the laughter was a touch more joyous. They smiled at each other for no reason, and teased each other over nothing and everything.

Aside from that, they didn't linger over the events of yesterday, save for the Turian occasionally grabbing her wrist and hauling up her arm to show her something new to do with her omni-tool. She still couldn't understand most of the characters scrolling across the interface, but after a while she learned she didn't really have to. Yet.

They came to the opening in the cavern wall, pretty much opposite of where they started across the great underwater lake. They had both hoped it'd be more of an old lava tunnel and less a crack in the wall, but they were both wrong.

Stone made smooth and slick by a millenia of trickling water inclined upward at a forty-five degree angle, making the trek a little ... doubtful. Still, the walls were close enough to push against, and as long as they didn't get too wide, their progress would eventually lead them to wherever the tunnel surfaced.

And if it got smaller ... well. They would deal with that then.

Without so much as a warning, the Turian yanked the gear from Hannah's shoulder and began to recombine it with his, ignoring her protests as he slung the pack over and across his back. He belted it around his waist before handing her the canteen.

She glared at him as she slipped it across her chest. "Oh. Thank you," she drawled. "So this is all you think I'm capable of being responsible f-"

He loosed a long string of gravelly syllables, then swatted her on the rear.

With a yelp and a wide-eyed gape, she stared at him for a good couple seconds before his laughter had her spluttering. Her cheeks flushed, she struggled to look indignant as she strode over and peered up into the darkness. "Such a gentleman-" she began to mumble, before she felt the deliberate, three-fingered caress across the roundest curve of her left buttock.

She went still and looked at him over her shoulder again. He was watching her, mandibles flaring out slow in a small, sly smile. He ran his palm up and over her hip, too, before withdrawing his touch and gesturing her forward, smile becoming a grin. He gestured to the tunnel, then pushed her forward.

_You first._

She gave him an irritated, playful look. "Right, because I'm in a great place to clamber up wet, slippery rock right now."

It was a treacherous climb that they managed in silence, which was fine for her as it took a great deal of concentration to find each hand and foot hold she managed to grope for. Glances back showed her that his claws and feet were better suited for this kind of work, which was why he needed to be behind her. He demonstrated this several times when she slipped and fell backward, only to get yanked to his chest with one arm while the other dug claws into the stone wall to keep her from hurtling back down to the cavern below.

He always made a great show of carefully helping her find her footing again, insisting on cupping the bottom of her rear and brace his strong hand against the back of her thigh. Dirty looks thrown at him only made him laugh, and once, he even gave her a fond squeeze.

This only gave her things to think about as she went back to climbing, and not in the direction she worried she would. Only because she didn't think she could focus if her mind kept straying to ... yeah.

Learning what she had about his way of life and culture through the images he'd shown her, she understood that for him his attraction to her wasn't all that hard to accept for either of them. The opposite was not true, however; Hannah was definitely struggling to understand her attraction to him.

Hannah was a good soldier, but she didn't fly starships and dream of being captain for any idealistic notion that humanity would light the way for the rest of the unexplored galaxy. All the stories and songs and media works of the old days painted a picture of human enlightenment spreading through the heart of the galaxy, like missionaries of peace across the stars. While most of them (humans) knew better, there were still the fanatics that considered humans to be the probable pinnacle of organic and spiritual evolution, and were more than ready to think of any other sentient race as beneath them.

This war was going to be a blow to the pride of those kinds of people, but Hannah would not be one of them.

Hannah wanted her own ship and her own crew, but not just because she was a good soldier; she was a good soldier only because she needed to be.

She believed the experiences of exploration could change a person, and in this case, change an entire culture for the better. They'd spent too long thinking they were all alone out here, with their single sun and single moon and the audience of the empty stars. To learn otherwise and to have the chance to leap forward to new horizons...

No. Hannah was an explorer at heart, and she was ready to take her daughter with her to every unknown star system and planet and watch her grow with each new sky. Serving her time with the military and do her duty to the best of her ability, Hannah would honor her promise to uphold humanity's best intentions but she wouldn't let it compromise what she wanted of her own life, and her daughter's:

_Freedom._

Not such a simple desire.

Because her intentions were so flexible, and her discovery of new things and places and people simply for the chance to discover them, it shouldn't have surprised her that the Turian didn't ... look repulsive to her. He had a mind and a soul and a beautiful set of eyes, and the lean, long-limbed body of an Olympic sprinter. The fact that he wasn't her species just made him that much more fascinating, and his obvious appreciation of her appearance made him that much more appealing.

But she still couldn't stop wondering if this all made her a traitor. They were in the middle of a war. People were dying over a stupid misunderstanding, a mistake both parties were responsible for. Friends were blowing up, most likely for both of them.

And here they were, how many miles away, surviving day to day and laughing and flirting and doing the pointless mating ritual of touch and smile.

This was the ongoing thought process Hannah dealt with on their slow climb through the dark, lit only by their omni-tools as the lichen found the atmosphere too warm the further up they went. It was a backdrop to the careful grope along the stone, the rhythm of their breathing and the constant drip of water.

They climbed for hours.

Observation had pointed to an impressive stamina for the Turian, if not Turians in general, and Hannah struggled to keep up the pretense that she could keep going. Sweat was beginning to pool between her breasts and slicken her skin, making her clothes stick to her uncomfortably. Drops of saline and condensation forced her to shake the moisture out of her eyes, hands too busy bracing herself to wipe them from her face.

Finally, arms tensed and muscles tight, trembling from head to toe, she paused, panting.

"I'm sorry," she said with a soft groan, flexing her spine with a careful undulation of hip and ribcage akin to a dancer's graceful motion.

Her groan was echoed by a male voice, a little deeper and a lot more feral, and she froze in place.

There was the sound of claws clenching into stone, the scrape of moving against the rock as the Turian braced his feet against the walls of the shuite. Hannah felt a hand brush her waist, then snake around to encourage her to step back.

Guided by him, her heels rested on the top of his two-toed boots, her hands slipping from the stone as he pulled her back into him. He was as solid as the rock around them, comfortably wedged in place, firm body easy to rest on as she lay against him. Without pausing to let her settle, he ran his hand up her hip and in along her waist, slowly traveling upward to brush her ribcage on its curve towards her arm. Her trembling doubled, coupled by something other than exhaustion; anxiety, both pleasant and strange and nerve-wracking; desire too, and a little bit of fear.

She looked at him with her back nestled into his lean abdomen, the stark white lines of his face glowing a warm yellow in the light of his interface. Eyes, bright, knowing, curious, and pleased, gazed back at her. He tilted his head, exhibiting his curiosity, and, carefully moving so she could see what he was doing, ran his fingers through the long, silken fall of her hair.

Such a simple action, but so very intimate; she shivered.

His responding growl was laced with all kinds of approval, but as before, he didn't press his advantage. Instead, he stayed as he was, braced against the tunnel and unmoving, letting her lay against him and catch her second wind. He was calm, almost relaxed, and though Hannah was resting to some degree, her mind was a whirling chaos of white.


	10. Chapter 10

While she briefly entertained the idea of tempting death and teasing the Turian under her with deliberate, meticulous exploration, she decided it was better to live and explore the terrain of his body when it was horizontal, level, and not the only thing between her and a plummet into a body cast.

She did stretch up to kiss his mouth however, but she missed and ended up caressing the end of his twitching mandible with her lips. And discovered something new, if the ripple through his body told her anything.

Smirking a little, she twisted back around and found her foot holds and groped along the stone for a good grip, and went back to work.

They aren't too far from the surface, but it's an hour before Hannah stumbles into open air and a warm night.

The sky above is littered with stars in a sky that competes with Earth at its most beautiful; violets and deep, azure blue sweeps roads and paths across a sky strewn with cosmic diamonds. She's too distracted staring up at the heavens to even consider offering the Turian a help out. Her head is tilted back so far that her throat is exposed to the world, filling her eyes with the breath-taking wonder of the surface world.

They've come to a deep ravine, a trickle of a stream at their feet, fed by what looks to be a wide pool further ahead, though it's hard to see in the darkness. Scans show that the walls of the small canyon are steep and high, almost a hundred feet in some places, while as low as thirty in others, with a consistent floor of about twenty five feet wide. It stretches forward almost two, three miles before it narrows to about four feet and turns into an underground river.

The sound of water echoes and multiplies, soothing and peaceful, and it strikes Hannah at how strange it is to find such a place in the middle of a war.

It reminds her of who's behind her.

She turns her head, noting the silence, and her eyes flick back and up to find the Turian staring at her. She tilts her chin at him as she turns around, feeling suddently shy; out in the open, above ground, smelling the moving, living air with nothing to keep them together but steep walls and ...

...and...

He reaches for her wrist slowly, drawing it up to access her interface and pull up a program. It isn't one she recognizes, and she frowns at the screen he's selected, trying to figure out what it is. He taps in a setting, keys in a code, and she feels something snap between her nerves. The sensation makes her jerk and shake her head, freeing her glowing arm to clutch her temple. _What a peculiar-_

_"You are so incredibly different, and then yet so familar."_

The voice is the same rich, deep cadence she's become so used to in the last week, but with the words plied in a rhythm she understands, it assaults ears in a completely different way. Her eyes are glued to his lips, Hannah frozen and speechless as he steps toward her. His hand reaches back, three-fingered and graceful, to pull her hair forward and snap the band that keeps it in place.

Her eyes close at the release of tension, and the undeniable bliss of his talons moving across her scalp to thread through her tresses. When his hand clenches into a careful fist, her lips part in a soft gasp, knowing full well that if he wanted to cut her throat or hurt her at all, she was completely at his mercy.

He tilts her head with a gentle but aggressive jerk, growling softly under his breath, breath she can feel across her lips as he both draws her up and lowers his head down. Her lips part further and she opens her eyes just in time to feel the strange, leather-soft pliability of his mouth brush hers.

Her head twitches in surprise, eyes going wide, her soft lips accidentally trailing along the edge of his split mandible, followed by her tongue as she suddenly feels the need to wet dry skin.

The shudder that ripples through him is echoed in her, the moan born of his mouth resonating through her chest until she can't tell if it's because she's pressed against his sternum or because they both groaned in the same key at the same time.

His hand tightens in her hair until she whimpers, her head tilting back willingly when gentle breath teases across trembling skin. She's breathing hard, eyes squeezed shut, confused and elated and so very very guilty-

"-all kinds of a fool... violating about ten different... -my prisoner and-"

It takes her a moment to understand that it's him she's hearing, the soft utterances almost inaudible with him leaning down, mouth against her throat. Knowing that he's just as lost as she is makes her lips twitch, and then smile, and then she's giggling and slipping her arms around his waist.

He draws back just enough to look at her, head tilted and mandibles fluttering in that amused expression she's seeing more and more from him.

"Oh?" _God his voice is so sexy_ , it scalds her cheeks like fire and makes parts of her quiver in a manner that is absolutely fucking indecent. "Is it all so amusing, little pyjak, that we're separated from land and crew, wrapped in each other like a pair of rutting Asari in the middle of a warzone?" One of his talons strays down her cheek, like it did that morning not too long ago.

It fascinates her how the translator is not only picking up words and nuance, but emotion as well. Or maybe that's already there, and it's warping sound-waves simply to understand and-

 _Okay, Hannah. Nerdish curiosity needs to get put away until the morning._ She stands on her toes to brush her lips across his other twitching, external jawbone, rewarded with a tightening in her hair and a soft, flesh-melting growl.

"I don't know half of what you just referenced," she murmurs, hands giving in to her desire and trailing up the impossibly lean, graceful lines of his narrow waist. The shudder and curse from him tells her how much he likes it. "But you can call me names and tell me how dishonorable we're being, and how we're a disgrace to our species' and that we'll get tossed in the brig or quarantine or whatever..."

His hands go around her body, echoing her caress to dip into her waist, and then draw around the deep, deep curve of her hips. Hannah moans softly, her lips brushing the seam of his mouth; she can feel his own quick breathing, delicate little pants that make her want to coax noises from this well-behaved, fascinating creature.

She trembles under his touch. It makes him smile again, she can see it in the dark. "...but right now, all I want to do is encourage this cross-species liaison until I'm more versed in Turian physiology than any other human on this planet-"

There's a low growl, sharper than before, and then she's swept up and carried over to a sheltered alcove she missed when they first came to the surface. His strength is something she's seen before, but actually feeling how effortlessly he picks her up, and with her being no light-weight, is a little jarring. He's resting her back into a soft surface, muttering 'moss' when she tries to identify it in the dark, but then he's working at her belt and pulling up her shirt and-

It becomes obvious he knows what he's doing when she's naked faster than she's ever managed on her own, hovering over her and looking down along the landscape of her body like he's seen this terrain before. Laying there in nothing but her tags, a predatory fellow leaning above her, Hannah feels quite vulnerable. Her hands twitch to cover herself, but she changes her mind and draws gentle fingers across the leathery plate of his mouth, feeling him breathe, watching him respond to her touch.

It occurs to him, she thinks, that this is far, far more foreign to her than she is to him, given what he showed her on the vids and how easily he disrobed her. His brow draws together in a soft frown, cupping her hand with his as her fingertips stroke across his throat, looking for his pulse. He guides her to what she's looking for, a gentle flutter felt further down and over than a human, protected by the bone-like cowl that cradles the pedestal of his neck. Her other hand, then, strays to his chin, tracing the white lines that glow by starlight, and moonlight, like the path of a map on gray granite.

"We don't... have to do this now," he ventures softly, that amazing voice of his tripping through her very bones. It's hard to keep her eyes open when he speaks, and she's suddenly aware of how goddamn tired she is.

She doesn't say this, however, instead tracing a fingertip along the middle line that starts above the edge of his chin, traveling up to his nose, smiling as she feels him inhale and twitch his nostrils as she keeps going up. When the white path splits, she uses two fingers and draws them between his brows.

He rumbles at her, a low, deep sound that starts in his chest, closing his eyes and leaning into her hand. Her palm presses into the beautiful shape along his head, the mark sweeping back; she wonders if the pattern keeps going, and she wonders what it all means.

She's more tired than she thought; he's answering the words she didn't mean to say aloud.

"It does keep going, but you won't see it tonight." She can see his teeth with him this close, beneath the movement of speech and the opening and closing of his mandibles. "And it means a lot of things; status of family, birthplace, origin of line..."

His voice gets lower and huskier with every word, and she's soon closing her eyes and turning her head to better let the audio honey access to her ear. "Please," she moans, soft and frustrated. "Just ... keep talking. I'm seriously almost there..."

His startled laughter makes her grin, but it melts beneath the sudden weight of him. She's instantly watching him again, his mouth trailing down the swell of her breast to stroke teeth gently across a nipple.

Her whole body jerks and she cries out, arching her chest into his mouth before she can stop herself, hands gripping his shoulders in shock. His expression too registers surprise, lifting his brows at her as she flops back, whimpering and shaking.

He just looks at her a moment, waiting for her to gather her composure, before asking dryly, "So I take it it's been a while, hmm?"

She jerks up her head to glare at him, cheeks flushed and body squirming. "N-NO. I just... you're very uh ... it's not like-" she tries to explain/lie/evade, but it's a little impossible; she feels so very  _naked_.

His mandibles keep flicking in an alternating pattern, his expression again one of contemplation. With a sigh, eventually he draws up and presses into her side, trailing a hand across her belly before gently cupping the breast furthest from him. When his thumb trails across her nipple, the sensation makes her jump and arch her back, gasping again.

"So very sensitive... even more so than an Asari's..." he murmurs, pleased.

"What's... what's a..."

"You recall the blue woman, the one that looked the most like you? Well, that's what they're called; Asari."

"Ah. What are the men of that species called?"

"There are no male Asari."

That got her attention. "What? No way, how is that-"

"The point I mean to make, my dear," he continues, riding over her curiosity, "Is that Asari are the most sensual, universally appealing sentient creatures in the galaxy. Graceful, beautiful, with responsive nervous systems and the ability to breed with anyone." His clawtips danced across her stomach again, making her shiver.

"If you are a decent physiological example of the females of your race, then your physical sensitivity might just put them to shame. And you are so very similar..." He purrs, hand brushing down lower, drawing a line from hip bone to hip bone low across her belly.

The flush of heat and wetness she responds with makes her blush, and she hopes in vain that he won't notice.

"Ah... yes," he sighs, eyes lidding halfway as he tilts his head down, admiring her pelvis. "So incredibly responsive... I wonder what else about you is similar." It's almost like he's talking to himself.

"What? What do you-"

But then he's pinning her thigh open with one of his long lean legs, knee drawing it aside as careful fingers brush up her thigh and trace the seam of her sex.

Her mouth falls open to protest or something, only to have the words melt into a plaintive little moan when his fingertips find her clitoris.

 _Okay. Completely unfair._ And here she'd been hoping that God loved her species best, but now it appears that love was shared with the Asari, at the very least.

He again demonstrates that he knows what he's doing; he's tracing around the little nub, coating fingers in juices to work across it again and again, pausing once to pinch at it to watch her buck into his palm and dig fingers into the moss under her head. One arm slips around her shoulders as he nestles close, nose tucked just under her ear, mandibles fluttering under her neck as he slides a long, thick finger into the wet, clenching opening of her body.

Her head falls back with a whimper to shame her, shaking hands groping for a grip on him as her composure starts to unravel. She manages to wind an arm around his neck just before he starts to move his hand, and soon enough she's clinging tightly to him as he strokes and thrusts and pushes within. Her cries get louder and louder, making him pull her tighter to him so he can wrap his arm around and cover her mouth with that same hand.

Once in place, however, the man goes to town.

He adds a second finger and picks up pace and pressure, hard rapid thrusts that have her face contorting into an expression of distressed pleasure, the woman yelling into his palm. He's as pent up as she is, desire that feels like it's been stretched for days, focused into this one moment to touch and feel and know. Her thighs spread wider and her hips lift in offering, desperate and unabashedly eager, and soon, she can hear him growling things to her.

"-tight and so wet... and so eager... so brave...  _Spirits_... so beautiful... I think you'll come for me soon, mmm? Yes..." She feels something warm and hot and wet touch just under her ear, then draw down in a slow line towards the pulse at her throat. She feels teeth, bites back a loud whimper. "Yes... come for me, I want to watch you... no distraction, no hurry... let me see..."

 _Oh...fuck..._  is about all her brain can conjure up.

He curves his fingers up hard and his thrusts slow, drawing out wail after loud, muffled, jagged wail, and between that and his murmurs into her ear, Hannah shatters like dropped glass.

Her spine arches like a bridge, naked body convulsing by starlight against the moss, her muffled expressions of orgasm accompanied by the gentle ripples of water across stone. Once, twice, three times she bucks into his hand, only vaguely wishing it's his hips her thighs are spreading wide around, her sex clenching down on his stroking fingers hard enough to surprise a curse from him.

When she falls back to moss and Turian, she's breathing so hard she's almost sobbing, euphoria and adrenaline and a day of constant climbing quickly draining the last of whatever energy she had. She's limp and boneless, and if he was waiting until now to kill her, she probably wouldn't so much as flail in protest.

He holds her close for a long while, drawing fingers through her hair and purring deep within his chest. She's fighting sleep, trying to listen to his breathing, his heartbeat... wondering if she fried her translator because she swears he's speaking to her, but she can't understand a word he's saying...

At one point, his warmth leaves her and she does voice protest then, a small little noise that she'd never claim as hers. He returns eventually with one of the thermal blankets unpacked and the rest of the gear tossed carefully to the back of their natural shelter. When he slips in next to her, he hasn't a stitch of armor on, warm, leathery body sliding along hers with a friction that has her sighing. Heat aside, however, she notes that he's a little damp. Almost dripping, even.

That rouses her some, making her look at him quizzically when he draws her back to his chest. He shrugs at her.

"Cold water can help keep me from becoming a rapist in the night," is all he has to offer.

The giggle it pulls from her is tired but sincere. "...wouldn't put up too much of a fight; don't think it'd be rape, neither... either... n... whatever."

He rumbles again at her, opening his mouth to run teeth along the curve of her shoulder. The responding quiver has him growling softly. "Stop that," he grumbles. "You're going to eradicate my attempt to remain gentlemanly."

She snorts into his neck. "You started it," she mumbles, squirming to get a leg around his waist.

The groan he voices this time is feral and loud, a tremor running through him hard and irrepressible. "That... don't do-"

Hannah stops. She pulls her head back and stares at him. "Is that... is that what I think-"

He growls and shoves her over to her back, arms braced as he curls over her, mandibles flicking in agitation. His hips are between her thighs, his pelvis rolling forward once to tell her yes, indeed, that is what she thinks it is. Hot and moist, the tip of his erection nudges at the flesh between her thigh and the apex of her hips. She goes immediately still, eyes wide, staring up at him.

_...oh god oh god oh god-_

His voice is breathless, strained to the limits of control and she feels a stab of pity for him. "I intended to wait until morning," he grits out, shoulders and arms shaking with the effort to hold back. "So we could learn together... and I could teach you and it wouldn't... but..." His control is seriously slipping; one hand moves to grip her hip hard enough to bruise.

Hannah is panting, so impossibly turned on that she doesn't understand it, wondering somewhere in the back of her head if it really has been that long. She's trying to think through the rush of desire and pheromones, questioning her motives... and all she can come up with is, _I want this._

Decision made, her hands move up to cup his face, thumbs stroking over the pale lines marking his beautiful cheekbones. He snarls when she first touches him, and she feels the tremor in him increase to quakes, his body curling forward more to press his face into her hands. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, trying to focus on what she's about to do. What's about to happen.

"Hannah," she says softly.

Still shaking, he pauses, head tilting at her. "Hannah?" he ventures. The sound of her name with his voice makes her moan, the sound almost a coo. "What's.. what's that?" he manages, swallowing visibly above her.

She smiles a little, one hand straying to run a fingertip down that center line along his chin. "My name."

He blinks at her. "You... give your family name first?" he asks, struggling to focus.

She shakes her head. "No. That's my individual name."

He goes almost completely still.

"Hannah ... is your individual name." He says it like a question. Almost.

She nods carefully. Had she offended him?

He says nothing, but then the shudder radiates through his hips and he grips one of her thighs, drawing her leg up and pushing into her in one slow, seamless stroke.

Her head falls back and any effort she had made to keep her eyes open and locked on him are quickly pushed away. He doesn't move at first, letting her adjust even though she's sure it's costing him a small measure of sanity to stay like this. He leans down and she feels his teeth again at her shoulder, her throat, and then along her jaw towards her hairline.

Then, his mouth is at her ear, growling under his breath, but she hears him say it, soft and desperate:

_"Sparatus."_

It's enough to make her whimper in surrender.

His rhythm is quick and shallow at first, no easing her into it. Thankfully, his earlier antics make such niceties almost unneccessary, but Hannah can't help but grit her teeth at the size of him. There has to be a texture too, she can feel it when he draws back, but the friction is building into a heat both physical and metaphorical; he's almost a scorching temperature, his hips pushing and pounding harder and harder...

His grip shifts and he's pushing her leg back at the knee, sitting up over her and pressing his other hand against the stone wall above her head. The shift in angle has her near screaming, his insistent bucking jostling flesh and curves and tangling her hair against the moss. Her other leg hooks around his waist and he snarls at her, pushing her knee to her chest and curving his body over her, above her, free hand gouging marks in the cave wall as he fucks her mercilessly.

She comes screaming, straining under him and clenching around him, back bowed and hands clawing at his fore-arms as he continues to pound into her through her coming.

His name becomes a battle-cry and a plea, her yells fading to frantic, aching whimpers, begging him to come because if he keeps going she's just going to break again and oh god please  _please just fucking-_

Her release ripples out in hard waves, mouth open in a silent scream.

The world spins and suddenly she's on top of him, his hands on her hips and he's working her up and down, bucking his pelvis to meet her, growling dirty, dirty words that she can barely pick up on but feel down into her bones. Her hair is a tangled halo around her shoulders, her body pliant as he helps her ride him, her hands gripping his wrists in a desparate attempt to hold on. Her thighs draw up and squeeze against his waist, and then he's saying her name, his body bowing up and straining beneath her. Her euphoric stupor cracks when she feels him pulse, and then jerk inside her, a spurt of heat and wetness that sends a flush from her toes to her ears.

She can't remember the last time she's felt  _...that..._

The image of her daughter flashes through her head for the briefest second, and she bites back the inappropriate urge to snicker.  _Oh wait_. Yes she does.

The sight of him going relaxed under her takes the last of her strength, and he needs little coaxing to draw her down to him. Still connected, it's a delicious notion to fall asleep this way as he draws the blanket over her, still panting and definitely still shaking. They cling and tremble together, murmuring nothings as lips touch and cheeks brush. He runs a hand through her hair, careful of the snarls and tangles, and she traces fingertips along the strange divides and fissures across his chest.

They don't remember exactly when sleep claims them, but the last thing Hannah remembers is watching the sky go from dark blue to soft aquamarine, the beginning of birdsong tickling her dreams.


	11. Chapter 11

Something foreign and irritating had her twitching too early.

Hannah swatted at the air, mumbling at it to GO AWAY.

It was persistent, however.

She tried to open her eyes, but it  _hurt-_

There was a low, rumbling growl and Hannah was dragged back and away from the blinding pain, into the warm, cool dark.

As Sparatus nuzzled the underside of her jaw, Hannah attempted yet again to open her eyes. In the shadowed safety of their overhang, it was easier and much less painful.

The ravine stretches from east to west, and it was the morning sun pouring into the crevice, glinting across water and bringing to light what was hidden by night before. Vegetation, lush and thriving, belied the desert savannah that covered most of the planet. Here, it was cool and pleasantly humid, the ripple of water a nice background to the wind that whistled through here now and again.

As she struggled to lean out and look around, the Turian nestled in behind her was grumbling at her under his breath as she squirmed and twisted and scooted further and further away from him. Eventually, he grew tired of this and snagged her around her waist, dragging her back as she squeaked indignantly. Flipped to her back, he nuzzled into her throat and drew breathtaking patterns down her thighs with his talons.

When he settled between them and drew them wider, Hannah had about a moment to register the beautiful, wicked green of his eyes before he slid into her.

Startled, she cried out and arched beneath him, nails digging into his elbows as he purred happily, rumbling at her as his mandibles flickered over the curve of her breast. His teeth parted to scrape across her nipple and she hissed a tender curse.

A laugh reverberated deep within his chest as he settled on her, his weight on his elbows as his torso curved above her chest, fingers combing through her hair before clenching into fists to keep her trapped under his gaze.

He growled her name.

To say it made her 'happy' to hear it was an understatement; her responsive clench around him had his eyes go wide and his mouth go slack. His hips responded too, rolling forward and back in an easy, gliding rhythm. It was enough to make Hannah incredibly noisy.

The white noise of the water masked most of her sounds, but he seemed to take great pleasure in muffling her; his mouth descended and his tongue swept in, groaning into her lips as he pumped and pushed harder and harder.

It was a great way to wake up.

He stretched it out forever, slowing and easing up, pushing hard only to stop again. She was besides herself with impatience, frustration, and mind-numbing pleasure; how was he even doing this?

He flipped her to her side and had her top leg stretched out and up over his shoulder, straddling her other thigh, buried and deep and the most satisfying sensation she'd ever experienced. Hannah was clawing at the wall somewhere above her head, panting desperately as Sparatus pumped and pushed and grunted above her.

He liked her waist from this angle, she could tell; he kept stroking the fingers of his free hand from her shoulders, down her back, and over the curve of her rump. Up and down he did it, over and over, and then he was squeezing her side, right above her hipbone. Gentle squeezes became more insistent as he sped up and fucked harder, and poor Hannah was wailing by the time he actually took a good grip of thigh and waist and slammed into her. Her throat felt raw and her nerves throbbed, and when he went still and began to release inside her, she lost it.

Her back arched, body curving against the ground, and he moaned at the sight of her. She was vaguely aware of his hands traveling up and down her body, tugging her hair at the scalp, cupping and squeezing her breasts. Wracked with tremors, she went limp with a whimper, a trembling hand gripping his wrist, the other covering her panting, flushed face.

When he eased from her and settled beside her, she moaned when his hands drew her to him and into the shape of his body.

When Hannah managed to find her breath again, she swore plaintively at him. "How. The hell... do you ... KNOW how to... DO THAT to... me..." she panted.

His responsive chuckle made her squirm. "Body scans," he replied breathlessly. "Your nerve endings are similar to a variety of species in Council space... bundled and concentrated in some areas more than others..." He drew a careful talon down along her arm, teasing across her fingertips and then across her palm. She shivered.

His hands inevitably went back to her hair, stroking through the tangled mass with a pleased, resonant mumble. "And this ... this is lovely..." he purred. "The first time I saw you pull it down, I thought the scent of you would drive me to distraction."

She twitched at that, then lifted her head to look him right in the eye. "That reminds me." And she nudged him in the abdomen in that one place he told her would be the most sensitive. She was gentle, but it made him jerk and widen his eyes at her in surprise. "Why didn't you upload the translation program earlier?"

He blinked at her once, and then tilted his head away to stare at her shoulder. He rubbed at it gently, a nervous affection.

- _affection...?_

"I ... don't know." He returned his eyes to her. "I was unsure how this would all play out, in all honesty. This is a strange circumstance to be in, stranger still that I am ...  _we_ are so accepting about all of this." He shifted against her, bringing his head down as his voice dropped down to a soft murmur to ask: "Are you angry with me?"

His posture denoted acceptance, apology, and entreaty; maybe it was less about growing accustomed to Turian body language, and more about accepting that so many body cues were indeed universal.

She considered his question seriously, contemplating their days together and their moments of trust. Why didn't he trust her sooner? But she knew the answer to that; they were supposed to be enemies, not attracted to each other, let alone lovers.

Why wasn't she more freaked about this?

"No," she said with a small sigh. "No, I'm not mad at you. It's hard to be when- hey-  _ow!_...what are you doing? That's starting to hurt!"

She was looking at the thumb he had rubbing circles into her clavicle, and he was frowning at the spot. She peered down to see what he saw, but the only thing on her skin, minus the red chafing from his rubbing, were little bits of moss getting ground and smeared into her flesh. She hissed and covered his hand. "Hey!" she yelped. "That hurts!"

He frowned. "I'm trying to get it off you."

She blinked at him, then looked at her skin again. She didn't see anything except flecks of dark green moss. "Get what off me? The lichen?"

He looked up at her, brow plates furrowing more. "You can't see it?"

She peered at her flesh. "Just the vegetable you're rubbing into my skin. Why? What do you see?"

His brows shot up with interest, and he peered at the stuff they slept on again. Gathering a pinch of the stuff, he rubbed it between his fingers, then held them out to her. "You can't see the white? It's almost glowing. See? There, and there, three little droplets."

Hannah saw the droplets but they looked like water to her, clear and thin. She shrugged. "I see no white." She watched the way they dripped slowly down his spread fingers, how the muscles in his fore-arms flexed when he rolled his wrist. Her hand ran down to follow their path, stroking up his bicep to smooth her five-fingers across the bony cowl that guarded his throat. He continued to stay distracted from her, however, and she decided to amp up the game.

And test a few theories.

He squinted his eyes at the little drops and the moisture left in their wake. "Interesting. I wonder if it's something only within Turian visibi-"

His words were cut off by a soft groan; Hannah was running her hands down his lean, muscled waist, around his hips and then up, slowly, between the seam of his thighs. "What... what are you-" he squirmed, and she was pleased to see his eyes both dilate and widen in pleasure and surprise.

She giggled and pressed a finger between the loosening plates she'd seen by lichen light those days ago. She understood better what it was now. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, mmm?" Her smile at his low growl and tightening grip on her elbows was positively devious. "I figured out how to take body scans two nights ago. Now..." she murmured, leaning up to run her tongue along a twitching mandible. "Let's see if I got this right..."

Yes. It was a really good morning.


	12. Chapter 12

Hannah would never believe it, but watching the Turian hunt for her was probably the sexiest thing she'd ever seen.

He hadn't bothered putting clothes on, and she was content to just run around in panties and her close-fitting undershirt. She was perched on a rock trying desperately to untangle her hair when she noticed something round and furry and really quite fast bolt from one side of the ravine to the other, and then zip down towards the pool.

She made a yelp and pointed in surprise, and after her big naked Turian figured out that there was no threat, he took off running in the direction the little plump critter had run to.

It should have been funny; giant, avian-like predator taking off like a cheetah over rocks, boulders, and lunging off the steep ravine walls, trying to pin down a creature that looked somewhat like a fat furry pig. Instead, Hannah was left breathless, watching the lines of his body, the lean curl and pace of a runner and the horrible grace of a carnivore intent on its kill.

He leapt forward and for a moment, time held frozen and Sparatus' body, stretched out from toes to talons, split shadow and beams of golden light.

She was pulling off her clothes before she realized what she was doing, and she didn't remember how she got to his side, his spine curved and exposed to her as he crouched over his kill. He was washing his hands in the stream when he looked up at her, mandibles flared in a smile. The smile faded when he took her in, though; naked and breathing hard and moving to him with deliberate care. 

His arms opened to accept her even as her arms wound around his throat, and his growl of pleasant amusement had her rubbing up against him. Leather-soft plates chafed sensuously against human skin, talons dimpling skin as they clawed across her ass, nails scratching audibly across Turian scales. His mouth parted to take her kiss and taste her tongue, and it didn't take long before he was happily pinned in the mud with Hannah astride him.

He gripped her hips and lifted her, spreading her thighs as his pelvis dipped and bucked and thrust up to encase himself within her. Her soft cry was answered by his gentle snarl, sliding rough hands up to cup her breasts as she settled down atop him.

He was trying to go for a quick pace, deep and firm, but she'd have none of it. Her thighs squeezed his hips and she shook her head at him, pressing her hands against his chest as she leaned over him. He was angular and bony in places she wasn't used to, but clinging to him for leverage was easy enough; her pace was slow, careful, and the shape of him enabled her to obtain a good, solid grip on him.

The light here was clearer, the suns high overhead, warm on her skin as she rode her Turian. She could see those beautiful green eyes of his, watching the emotion flit across his face as she maintained visual contact. She couldn't stop touching him either; her hands kept straying up his neck, cupping and brushing his flexing jawline. Fingertips ran across lips that offered a quick tongue to taste her skin, parted to moan softly at her as it made her pick up her pace a little.

It was getting harder to focus on her rhythm and her pace, though; his hands were digging into her thighs, dragging up her hips to help her rise and fall, dart in and out, rub deep and warm within-

Her eyes began to flutter; oh yes, it was getting harder to focus.

He sat up and drew her deeper into his lap, changing the angle as he brought her hips flush to his. His knees bent under her and he gripped her ass, drawing her up and down, keeping her gaze, watching her watch him. Her hands cupped his face, thumbs stroking across the beautiful lines sweeping across his cheeks, her breath feathering across his face as he brought her down harder, pushing soft little noises from her.

There was an expression of smug tenderness at that, and she brought her frown to bear on him playfully as she gripped his hips with her knees, halted her pumping, and paused to roll her pelvis in a firm, hard grind.

The laughter faded from his eyes and the growl that resonated within him had all the makings of a defiant roar.

She dipped her head to kiss him again, and again, pleased to feel him respond and continued to roll her hips around him and on him. Still, she struggled to keep her eyes open, to watch him, and it was undoing her to see him fight to do the same. His three-fingered hand came up to brush her throat, stroke across her cheek in an echo of her own touch. Such a simple gesture, it opened up something inside her chest, something warm and aching, pouring through her like liquid gold.

This had suddenly become more than just sex.

"Sparatus-" she moaned, terrified and startled, renewing her grip on him in some strange fear of falling.

"Hannah," he growled back, his tone pleading with her, skipping across her nerve-endings like sparks on kindling. His arms wound tight around her waist, hands splaying across her ass and lower back as he urged her firmly, deeper, harder, and just a little faster. "Keep going," he gasped, still watching, still looking. "Please... please keep on... don't let go..."

Hearing 'please' from this warrior-hunter's lips was enough to break her alone, but it was the suggestion in his tone that he was begging her for more than just her rhythm, more than just the release that was already gathering like a wave above them both.

She wasn't going to make it; her eyes were going to snap shut because it was becoming too much and she was clenching and squeezing and there was a quake in her hips that just wouldn't stop. Whimpers spilled from her lips as she clawed at his shoulders, vision swimming with those beautiful eyes of his, green and warm and darkening by the second-

One hand caught the side of her face and held her attention, while his other gripped her hard and bucked quick and deep in a series of rapid thrusts that pushed cry after startled, desperate cry from her, until they both shattered. They clung to each other, eyes wide in an expression that would have been comical anywhere else, but they were so stunned, holding on and shaking, his own low calls bouncing off the ravine walls. Kill forgotten. War left behind.

The sunlight was warm on her shoulders, her whole body shaking with the experience still seeping through her bones. Their eyes were still locked, panting into each others' faces as they bathed in bliss and ignored any emotional implications feathering at the edges of their consciousness. Hands would stray across cheeks and brows, fingers tangling in hair or stroking across fringe... tease the edge of an ear, brush the opening of lips...

Hannah came back to herself a few seconds first; her slow smile was eventually met by his, and it was a radiant thing to feel.

"Forgot... you can't hear me think," she teased, arms settling around his neck, cradled by cowl and shoulders.

He chuckled and gave a breathless nod. "Mmm. I think I know what you-"

A noise bounced across the savannah above them, shattered the peace of their ravine as the distinct sound of  _gunfire_ echoed around them.

The war they'd forgotten had reminded them it was still very much there.


	13. Chapter 13

It was the fastest Hannah could ever remember getting her clothes on, and that included curfew calls in college.

She was dressed before he was, and, being the more limber of the two of them, was the first to climb up the steep stone wall nearest them. At his suggestion, she loaded her omni-tool and let the 2D panel peek over the ledge instead of her head, scanning for a brief visual while processing what the life-scans had shown them.

Two platoons, one Turian, one Human, the former chasing the other and the other quickly honing in on Hannah and Sparatus' position. Sparatus had been jamming their signal, however, so she knew they still couldn't spot them.

It was just damned awful coincidence.

They were still a ways off, but coming up fast. They needed to figure out what to do.

She slid back down, slipping over shale harmlessly as he caught her in his arms at the bottom. Protectively he gripped her, dragging her back under the overhang and examined her scans. Anxiety buried, she tried not to think about what this all meant as they considered their options.

Neither was comfortable with taking out one platoon or the other. It just wasn't going to happen. One of them could slide back down into the caves, or they both could, to wait out the fight and figure out who survived. That still reeked of dishonor, and again, they weren't comfortable with letting the Turians and Humans kill each other.

"We can each slip into their ranks?" Hannah offered. "It'd be the best way, they wouldn't think we were together... I know yours would consider you well-timed back up, probably be the same for me."

Sparatus nodded. "A distraction, then," he offered. "Smoke and fire, enough to blind and temporarily incapacitate." He pulled up his own tool and began to tap in programs. "They get close enough, I can set off several well-placed explosions. No injuries with any luck, and absolutely no casualties." He paused, looking at her, the facade of professional soldier cracking for a moment. "I'm ... I'm not going to let them keep persuing. I'm going to haul them back and sound a recall, get us all back to the base or wherever they came from. Try to get back to the fleet and untangle this mess-"

She gripped his hand, eyes blazing. "It's too late for that," she told him grimly. "We ignored all of this, but right now it's just a big stupid mess. I don't ... I can't ... " She ran her other hand over her face, trying to find the words through all the sap getting in the way. "I don't think I can take another shot at your people and not worry it isn't someone you know." She turned her head to look at him; it took everything she had to look him in the eye. "Or you."

He went still, simply returning her regard. He pulled his hand from her grip in an aggressiveness that had Hannah's heart clench in fear, but then he cupped her face and dragged her over, kissing her hungrily. "Whatever happens, I'll find you again," he whispered harshly, his voice soft gravel and leather.

She nodded and hated the tears that pulled at her eyes, brushing them away with her arm. "You better." She kissed him harder, pleased to hear his rumble of gentle regret. "And I understand if you use what... what you've learned from me to defend yourself. And I'm going to do my best to do the same, but not use it for murder if I can." She bit her lip. "Can you try too?"

He paused for only a moment. At his growling ascent, she sighed. "Thank you, Sparatus."

Scans showed the fight was getting closer. Sparatus clamped a cuff around one of her wrists and showed her how he'd disabled them; a well placed scrape against rock and a little bit of water could get the thing to short. Better evidence to support their story. Sparatus set up the land mines from the bottom of the ravine, as Hannah watched the little blips on her scanner get closer; right on time.

He helped her up first, gear over his back, and climbed up alongside her. Crouched on a ridge just below the edge, they saw their targets get nearer. It was tense, pressed shoulder to shoulder when only moments ago, they were naked and close and drowning in bliss and sunlight-

Hannah shook her head to clear it, but apparently he had the same trouble. He snagged the long tail of her hair and dragged her back to him, kissing her hungrily and groaning into her mouth; desperate, so desperate, like he was trying to give her a piece of himself for her to remember.

Like she could forget.

But it gave her an idea. She pulled back a little and snapped off one of her dog-tags, a crease in the metal that was there for just such a quick removal. She pressed it into his hand. "You'll find me easier this way."

He tucked it into his armor without looking, green eyes somber in a mask of white lines on dark flesh. How had he become so beautiful to her so quickly?

She tore her eyes from him and peeked over the edge, watching the fight come closer and closer to where they needed them to be. Right there. Perfect.

She hunched her shoulders, preparing to leap over as soon as Sparatus detonated the charges, but his hand gripped her arm. She looked over at him, startled.

He kissed her again. "There's a way you can stop this," he whispered against her mouth.

She went still, blinking at him.

He went on, his voice low and breathless. "Turian physiology is different from most of the other races; only the Quarians come close to sharing our genetic structure." He tapped up his interface quickly, then uploaded the information he was queueiing up to hers. "The point is this: we have to have our food shipped in, we can't survive on local material for sustenance or survival. It's why I've been nibbling on rations all these weeks." He gripped her close, his voice a low whisper. "Use that. I've given you markers to identify all of the ships that bring in our supplies. You can stop this before it gets any worse."

Hannah was gaping at him. He was... "I don't want to ki-"

He shook his head. "Weak points in the armor of each ship will disable them. They'll be wingless but alive." He squeezed her. "I know you can't control what your superiors do; I can't either, but the faster we get this thing over with, the sooner we can find each other again. And while ... being together may not happen right away, at least... at least we won't have our people dying all around us..."

On cue, one of the Turian blips ceased to be. Another human followed suit. Dammit.

He looked over the edge to make sure it was clear, then keyed in the code into his interface. There were loud, hollow explosions full of smoke and shouts. He boosted her over.

She turned around right before she got to her feet and kissed him again. "I'll find you," she growled. The sight of his eyes dilating at her tone filled her with joy. And hope. She rolled to her belly, got to her feet, and took off into the confusion to find her people.

* * *

 

It was hard to explain how she knew what she was taking about without adding in the twisted story of her escape and interrogation of her captor. She didn't care that they seemed astonished that  _her_  attempts at getting information out of the Turian captive she'd aquired were more successful than their most eager, hateful interrogators. She didn't answer when they asked what became of him; her silence proved to be enough.

And so it was, back at Shanxi under a flag of surrender, that a message was passed out to all guerrilla units about the genetic weakness of the occupying enemy.

Crates of food, not Turians, were blown up as often as they could find them. No deaths meant no retaliation, but as accidental and as vague as the human fighters attempted to keep the destruction, it soon became clear that the Turian occupation was in trouble.

And then, joy beyond shock, Admiral Drescher showed up with the entire Second fleet at her disposal.

Hannah made sure that the first thing out of General Williams' lips was the intel on Turian food supplies, and she prayed for all she was worth that the Admiral was more interested in finishing this thing than revenge.

There were a few casualties, accidental collisions that had her wound up in knots of guilt, but a steady assault on the supply ships had the intended affect.

There was a ceasefire, and a ship the size of a space station suddenly came into existence to hover between the Shanxi colony and the Turian fleet.

The Turians all left the planet's surface, and the world went quiet for several moments.

Hannah remembered to breathe.

Peace was negotiated quickly, humanity commended for their tenacity against the greatest fleet in the known galaxy. That surprised Hannah more than anything; she'd thought the humans so far behind the rest. Even if that were so, in probably only made them appear that much more courageous.

She smiled at the image of Sparatus elbowing her silently;  _I told you so. Now don't get cocky, pyjak._

She was standing on the deck of the great ship, unsurprised by the new species milling about. She was standing behind a rather dejected looking General Williams, but she didn't blame him, and couldn't tell him enough that he'd made the right choice; the bitterness of lost life ran deep among her people, especially when it was all seated on a misunderstanding that they blamed on the Turians.

She stifled a sigh and stood at attention, watching as more and more aliens crowded the ceremonial deck within the center of this enormous ship. The stood in the center of an outstretched platform, flanked by a garden that surrounded them below as well as on either side. Soft light filtered in, beams focused on a higher deck in front of them.

Translation programs were set to broadcast so the humans could understand, and it was announced that the council would enter and all were requested to be respectful. The species identified as Asari came through first, a blue woman of elegant lines and radiant poise; her expression was grave but open. The second was a creature Hannah hadn't seen yet, with large eyes and a wide mouth. And the third-

Her hands clenched tight behind her back, nails biting into her palms as she saw Sparatus for the first time in weeks.

He looked to be in one piece, though tired. His posture echoed hers, something she'd have thought on purpose if it hadn't been for the surprise that registered on his face a few seconds later, when his gaze swept across her platform and spotted her. Green eyes widened briefly. Hannah gave him a tiny smile, then lifted her chin.

With that, the ceremony began.

Humanity was welcomed into the arms of the universe, and apologized and forgiven for the great mishaps that had started this horrible, potent yet small war. Hannah was proud her people did not grumble, proud and straight and dignified. She was surprised when the Turians were ordered to make repartations to the newest member of Council space, her eyes flicking to Sparatus across the distance, wondering if this was his doing.

He was a councilor... why hadn't he  _said_  anything? She tried not to feel betrayed; there had to be some reason why he couldn't.

As further gestures of welcome and peace, the Council offered humanity a tour of the ship, and the ability to stay on it in the days to come; they would be happy to guide them to the fabled Citadel, the hub and seat of this great galactic government.

Responses from the humans were brief and courteous, accepting but laced with a touch of wary hesitance. No one said anything; who could blame them?

The delegations scattered, with translation programs broadcast, it was relatively easy for the humans to talk to the other species. It was tense in many places, but she saw in others the glow of discovery and the joy of peace. There was no violence here, and she was thankful.

She wandered to the outskirts of the crowd, hating the stiffness of her dress blues and wishing she could just go home, but she'd be lying to herself if she wasn't looking for someone too. There was a viewport that looked out to Shanxi hovering below them, and she made her way to that; it was a secluded are, flanked by trees and benches and a large, shaded screen.

She leaned against the railing and pored over the situation. Peace found, war resolved, and it still felt confused and chaotic. Or maybe that was just in her-

"I didn't think you were far up enough in rank to get here," came the familiar, dual-toned resonance she'd come to enjoy. Her lips quirked and she turned her head a little, catching alabaster lines on black skin.

"Special accomodation for the woman that tortured a Turian into telling her all about his eating habits," she drawled softly, before turning back to the view. "You're lucky General Williams was more interested in survival than retalliation. He's the first in the history of our people to surrender to another species, you know." He came up beside her, leaning against the rail too. She resisted the urge to look up at him. "He won't be treated well after this."

He quirked at that. "He had no other choice, and he'll still be punished? He saved many lives-"

Hannah shook her head. "He won't be punished, not formally. But this act of surrender will follow him for the rest of his life. Unfair. Unjust. But it will."

Now she did dare to peek up at him, only to find green eyes meeting her own. He'd never stopped looking at her. He was frowning.

"Humanity is so proud?" he asked softly, concerned. "Will they be so resistant, then, to everything that is coming?" He took a single step closer to her. Hannah was suddenly grateful for the screen and the trees; she was shaking from head to toe.

"I don't know, Sparatus," she whispered to him. "There is so much anger among my kind, rage over a war that never needed to happen. We didn't know, you didn't know that we didn't know..." She sighed, looking away but covering his hand on the rail where it had settled near hers. She felt him squeeze her fingers. "And... I didn't know I was getting intel from one of the highest ranking Turians in Citadel space-"

He coughed. She looked up at him. "What?" she asked.

"I wasn't, I'm not. Well. I see why you'd think that but-" He reined in the babble with a deep breath, considering his words. "I have no authority, but I have the ear of every Turian there is, and commend the respect of even our leaders. My words carry great weight and there are few who wouldn't do as I advise." He was reciting something; had he been practicing this explaination? "But this wasn't so when I met you, I swear it. I came back to a dead councilor who had no heir, and the line of succession went to me." He shook his head, looking at her again. "I'm colony born, not from Palaven; this was the last thing I expected."

Hannah didn't understand all of what he was explaining, but she knew enough to accept that he'd been thrust into a position he hadn't been prepared for. She understood that all too well. There was something else in his words, though, an overtone of hesitance and shame that made her uncomfortable.

"This means something more, doesn't it?" she murmured. "Something about us."

The dip of his head made her belly feel hollow.

"As the Turian councilor, I've given up my family name. I am only known as 'Sparatus' or 'Councilor', the former exposed to the world and offered freely to my people to use as they will. My family name is no longer needed; I am the Turian people, their voice, and therefore all I am. " His voice sounded tired, his shoulders were even sagging. "I am bound to my position and its responsibilities. And the image I present."

That made her feel cold.

"The image...?" she ventured, her voice not much more than a whisper. There was a celebration going on somewhere behind her, she was sure of it. But right now, all she could think of was how she wasn't going to get what she knew she wanted.

"Cross-species relationships for a councilor tend to be frowned upon at best; doesn't encourage the notion that my interest is for my species and undivided in its loyalty. If I were to... I ... there'd always be the question of my choices and decisions, unbiased advice scrutinized for the slightest bit of waver..." He was trying to be gentle, but really, he was just as dissappointed as she was.

"Maybe it'll be different, maybe I'll retire and it won't be so-"

She dug her fingers into his arm, forcing him to look at her. "Take me somewhere," she pleaded with him. He blinked down at her. "Today, just today. Give us one more moment to keep me warm while I wait for you to come back to me-"

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, but then so were his arms around her, and it was all too late.

The party was going hard enough to keep anyone from noticing the pair slip away, innocent companions until they got to his quarters. Clothes were removed with little regard and Hannah was pressed into the mattress of a large bed in a dimly lit, well-furnished room. Sparatus took her with all the desparate affection she knew he felt, and she came with a stiffled cry that ended in tears.

He kissed them away and kissed her again, murmured her name over and over and promised her every tomorrow he would have.

Morning came with them wrapped up in each other, Hannah's hair tangled and her skin raw in several places. She was running her hands over the lines on his face, brushing fingertips over every path they took. He was watching her.

"We're a ridiculous pair, you and me," he rumbled to her. "Something straight out of some tragic, romantic epic." He sighed and leaned into her touch, letting her caress across the white stripe that split the fringe at his crown.

She chuckled softly. "Romantic? Sparatus, are you saying-"

He looked up at her. She stopped her teasing.

She kissed him instead.


	14. Chapter 14

_***ENCRYPTED MESSAGE***_

_***.***.xxxxxxxx_

_Bird,_

_It's been a few days longer than I intended to go before writing you. Brass has been incredibly generous and there've been arrangements made to turn me into a real spacer. I'm on a cruiser with a promotion, daughter in tow and a ship of my own somewhere in my future. And I have you to thank for all of it._

_Sure, I could have managed, but I doubt this quickly. So thank you._

_I miss you something stupid._

_Yours,_

_Pyjak_

* * *

_***ENCRYPTED MESSAGE***_

_***.***. .***_

_Pyjak,_

_The breeding proposals are getting ridiculous. Not that the attention is bad, but it's been a well known joke among my peers that my tastes run towards the exotic. Again, there isn't anything wrong with my own species... my range of attraction runs broad and free, I suppose._

_And now there's you. I think I've definitely gone from 'kink' to 'fetish', as it were._

_There's a side of me that wants to encourage you to find a mate and settle in, but you aren't that kind of person. At least, you don't seem to be. Is it wrong to make such judgements? I feel like I've known you for so much longer than the time we had._

_How is it that you managed to avoid the emotional conversation these last few correspondences, and I've suddenly rushed head long into it? What have you done to me, woman?_

_You describe your daughter like she has the temperment of a Krogan and the keen sense of an engineer. I would love to meet her some day._

_Yours,_

_Bird_

* * *

_***ENCRYPTED MESSAGE***_

_***.***.xxxxxxxx_

_Bird,_

_My little girl enlisted today. Little girl... she's not so little anymore. She's almost as tall as you are but as wide as me. Solid muscle and all attitude._

_I love her so much, and I'm scared for her too._

_She knows the way of the Universe better than most, but it shocks me how clearly she sees through the problems presented to her. I worry that she's made the wrong choice, following after me because it's all she's known._

_She's so glorious. My pride is surpassed only for my hope. She will make us all proud._

_Keep an eye out for her, will you? She's bound to overlap into your circles eventually._

_I'll keep you posted, too, on the Batarian situation. It's not looking so dire anymore._

_Pyjak_

_P.S. Is it you that's forwarding my intranet-address to the Turian pornography vids? Some of these positions look vaguely familiar... Oh, and the fact that they're all human-Turian couples is a dead give away. What I wouldn't give for a peek at your intranet-history. Should I forward an inquiry to your assistant?_

* * *

_***ENCRYPTED MESSAGE***_

_***.***. .***_

_Pyjak,_

_Your accusations burn worse than the rage of a thousand suns. I'm offended you'd think me so base as that._

_Vid 432-AF is my favorite so far. She has your hips._

_I know we swore off work discussions, beyond the work ones, about ten years ago, but is it alright if I tell you that this is the most unrewarding job in the known galaxy? I have no official power on my own, but I have to check and recheck every suggestion I make with my fellow councilors, to have the matter discussed into oblivion until I can't remember which topic was mine and which one i intended to shoot down. Half the time I'm the tie-breaker vote, and the rest of the time, I'm trying to bypass the emotion and stick to what's logical._

_Making decisions based on little evidence and emotional hype has tempered my blue counterpart into a woman of cold calculus, but I see where this has kept things from sinking too far beyond our control of certain situations. Fear compels the other from making hard choices, leaving them instead to us. We'd be better served if we'd let go of tradition and outsource a little more. Odd numbers are fine, but this is ridiculous. I'm all for hiring a few more people into this job. Know any decent humans?_

_Any news on that promotion you wanted?_

_Bird_

* * *

_***ENCRYPTED MESSAGE***_

_***.***.xxxxxxxx_

_Bird,_

_I heard you rallied behind our girl for Spectre status. Don't lie. I have my sources. Anderson just about exploded with the details. That man wouldn't know 'discretion' if it bit him in the ass._

_I've pulled back my tabs on her over the years. Sometimes it's better that I just don't know what she's getting in to, but this new development is frightening. What's happening out there in the black? She's really worked up over this, my cool-headed little amazon. She's all logic and gut-feeling, and she's never wrong. Promise me you'll continue to listen to her, even if you can't always let on that you do._

_Intranet has you pegged as the most rigid of the three, and Terra Firma has you marked as the most racist against humanity. If they only knew, right?_

_New job is alright. Looking forward to getting my own rig though. Any day now._

_Saw you in the vid for the ceremony. You don't look like you eat enough. Don't you die on me._

_Love,_

_Pyjak_

* * *

_***ENCRYPTED MESSAGE***_

_***.***. .xxx_

_P-_

_ARE YOU TRYING TO GET YOURSELF KILLED? OR FIRED? OR...KILLED?_

_Thanks for disobeying orders. I'm sure it's the only reason your kid saved our lives._

_This place is a mess, security is shoddy. I'll write more later._

_Take care of yourself, and give that spawn of yours a hug. Just don't say from where._

_-B_

* * *

_***ENCRYPTED MESSAGE***_

_***.***.xxxxxxxx_

_I just couldn't help myself. She looked at me like I was crazy when I tried to explain to her how important you and your co-workers were. She understood but ... I wonder if she suspects. She's never seen me talk about you before. Did I give myself away? Shit._

_Write when you can, but I think that promotion I wanted is in the works. Who knew disobeying orders would get me so far?_

* * *

_***ENCRYPTED MESSAGE***_

_***.***. ._

_Pyjak,_

_I heard about your girl. Is she still missing? Last I heard, there was still no body to be found, and surely there must be something, even if she burned past orbit. I feel guilty as can be for sending her out on this last mission, the reports we have are all over the place. Evidence supports a Collector attack, but my co-workers insist that's impossible. We still suspect the Geth, but the ship ID doesn't match up either._

_Doing my best to dig into this as much as I can. What have you got?_

_Security be damned. I want to help. Shepard saved my life. And she's your's._

_Let me know,_

_B_

* * *

_***ENCRYPTED MESSAGE***_

_***.***. .x_

_P,_

_Haven't heard back from you yet. Are you in the black? Your ship left Noveria three weeks ago. Where are you?_

_B_

* * *

_***ENCRYPTED MESSAGE***_

_***.***. .x_

_P,_

_Still nothing from you, if you've sent me anything. I've been snapping at security for days now about not censoring all of my messages, encrypted or otherwise. Please don't stop trying. I'm starting to get worried._

_Write back soon,_

_B_

* * *

_***ENCRYPTED MESSAGE***_

_***.***. .x_

_Recieved word your ship is docked at Illium, and has been since Commander Shepard went missing. Hands are accounted for and ship is not in need of repair. Her captain has requested leave from the Alliance for an indefinite amount of time. Why haven't you said anything?_

* * *

_***ENCRYPTED MESSAGE***_

_***.***. .x_

_Don't you move from that port, Hannah. I'll be on Illium tomorrow. Don't make me go public and hunt you down, because I will._

_Yours,_

_Sparatus_


	15. Chapter 15

Gaining access to an Alliance ship for a councilor took no kind of effort, but getting past the captain's personel was a completely different matter.

Turian-Human relations had improved greatly in the last decade, but there was still mistrust in letting a stranger aboard a ship when your captain was indisposed.

He was getting huffed at by a human that looked like he was part Krogan, with massive shoulders and a stance that would any soldier think twice about picking a fight with  _this_  one. Still, Sparatus still had a good foot on him, and looking down at this guy was clearing making hi uncomfortable.

So he pulled a card he rarely ever used.

He held his hands behind his back and puffed out his chest, seeming to consider this grunt's refusal with the respect it wasn't due. Then, he gave a shrug, and said in a low, mocking tone,

"Very well. You can inform the captain, then, that Councilor Sparatus wasn't allowed on board per her request."

 _That_  got a couple head's turning. The pilot all but shoved the marine aside, snapped a salute to the Turian, and said, "Not necessary sir. Elevator up to the second level, hall to your right, straight through. Can't miss it." When the grunt opened his mouth to protest, the pilot elbowed him as hard as she could.

Sparatus nodded his thanks and turned to make his way to Hannah's quarters. As he left, he heard:

"-splains why the Cap  _never_  paired off, doesn't it?"

"What the  _hell_  are you talking about, space-monkey?"

There was a new voice he caught just before he entered the lift.

"Seriously? He might Turian, but I recognize hot when I see it. Wow."

"You're joking. That captain would keel-haul your asses for even insin-"

"Right. But you don't know what kind of porn she surfs through on her off-hours."

"-and  _you_  do-"

* * *

 

There was a privacy lock on the captain's door. Sparatus tapped a request twice but got nothing. Finally, he hailed her tool to tool. Didn't bother to hide who he was.

"... you've got to be kidding me," was her muffled, filtered reply.

"Open the door, Hannah."

"No."

"Open the door or I won't tell you that your crew has access to your intranet history."

Silence.

The locked glowed green, and he wasted no time seeking entry.

The cabin was dark and smelled of stale air. The human scent of grief permeated the place; you didn't have to be an Asari to know a parent had succumbed to the loss of her only child.

She was tucked in the back of the room between her bed and the side-table, a bottle in hand, her hair in dissarray around her head. It was still long, still dark and beautiful.

 _She_  was still beautiful.

He'd snapped a shot of her back on Shanxi when she wasn't aware, a snap of her looking up at the starry heavens stretched out above him. Her neck was arched and beautiful, exposed in offering to the fate of the Universe in such an innocent expression of trust that he couldn't help himself. Her hair had been pulled back in a tail, her cheeks flushed from the exertion of the their climb, shoulders relaxed, eyes alight with beauty and joy. What came next had just been a bonus. He had a piece of her forever.

Her eyes were tired from lack of sleep, her mouth drawn down in an expression of sadness that he felt even in his own bones. She wore that sleeveless, form-fitting shirt most Alliance soldiers favored under the uniform, her feet bare and her legs covered in hacked cargos. Her eyes, her bright eyes... they were dull with unhappiness, and the draining of tears.

He moved to her, locking the door behind him and reaching for him.

She moved with the same speed he remembered, but not towards him. She was on her feet, hands out, snarling at him sharply to stay where he was.  _That,_ he did not expect.

She paced back and forth, agitated, a pinned predator at a loss for what to do, no exits, no way out. She was talking, her words sharp and angry.

"-nothing, no word, just a note that she's heading out to the Terminus systems on Councilor command, to search out the threat of the Geth, but not for the  _Reapers-"_

Oh.

"-everything she did, she did right, risked everything. And then  _you-"_  And here, she moved to him, jabbed a finger into the middle of his chest. "-you and your cohorts tell her in vague terms that she's cracked or mistaken, that the threat isn't there and that she's over-reacting?" Her eyes are bright again, but with a fire he hasn't seen since he threw her out of that tree during the First Contact War.

"What was she even  _doing_ at Alchera, you stupid bird? The threat is  _not_  the Geth, god-dammit, or did you miss the giant metal squid trying to eat your floating fortress less than a few months ago? Was that just a figment of our imagination? A fluke? A risk you're willing to take so that you can  _sleep at night-!"_

Her hands were clenching into fists. This was not how this meeting was supposed to go. This wasn't how he wanted to see her in person again for the first time in over 25 years. He reached for her again, unthinking, and she stepped back and away from him.

"What? Did you think that a few days of fucking when we were young and a few decades of correspondence would just absolve you of your mistakes?" Her body bristled with anger, grief, confusion... "Did you think that this 'relationship'," and here she did a thing with her fingers he'd seen in vids, when humans were being rude and trying to call a thing a name when it was the opposite by putting quotes around it- "-would continue after so long without so much as a visit, or a call, or the decency to admit it ever happened?"

Sparatus felt his fringe bristle and spread;  _now_  he was angry.

"This isn't something new, Hannah. You knew when this started that we couldn't be together. That hasn't stopped me from caring-"

" _Bullshit."_

He froze.

"Excuse me?" he said, all warmth gone from his voice, subvocals dead.

 _That_ got to her, but she shook it off and carried on.

"You see a person when you care. You aren't ashamed of them. You throw caution to the winds. You take risks." She looked up at him, and jarred or not, her eyes were bottomless with sorrow. "You believe their daughters. You don't send the only other thing they love out into the black on a fool's errand for the sake of some twisted notion of denial."

_You don't let them die._

His spine went stiff. He stared down at her and considered her words, tried to accept that they came from a woman who lost so much. He tried.

But it all hurt too much.

"I came here because I was worried about you." His voice felt soft and small, even in his own ears. "Your daughter has gone missing and there's no evidence as to where she is. I came here to make sure you were alright. To offer comfort. And to ..." And here he hestitated. Dare he?

Should he tell her that he felt the same pride for Commander Shepard that her mother did? That he'd watched her since before she graduated high school, had her followed on every 'date' and protected every time she left the safety of her fleet?

That he'd felt his heart soar with pride when, without help, she surpassed everyone's expectations, was recruited into the N7 program and saved hundreds of lives during the Skyllian Blitz?

That he agonized over her Spectre commendation, worried it'd put her in too much danger but sure she could handle herself. That she would grow in the light of her courage with a tenacity that put Turian  _generals_ to admire her and shame themselves, a talented biotic that astounded so many, kept close by few.

That he felt his own heart falter in his chest when he received word the  _Normandy_  had gone down, the ship he'd sought to give her, that had failed to protect her. That he'd closed his office for days to fight back the urge to keen with grief every time her name came up in the media. That it took almost a week for him to find the mask he'd used for years to keep up his unbiased pretense.

That it was a lie, all of it, that he was biased and he was worried it would be found out, that he was  _Shepard_  biased beyond all repair.

That he felt like he'd lost a daughter he'd never been able to hold.

Some of this must have come through in his face, and Hannah had always been so good at reading him. Her expression of rage and grief had begun to fade away, recognition and regret settling in instead. But he was tired of it, too anxious with a trip he feared would give it all away, cost him his career and every choice he'd made on the line. He put the mask back on.

"And to offer my condolences, Captain Shepard. The Commander was a loss to ... to us all." His subvocals flared, and he cursed himself for a prepubescent fool. He turned on his heel before he broke down and gave it all away. "I am sorry to have bothered you in your grief, I'll leave you be."

_I'll leave you be._

His palm hit the door lock and he was down the hall before he heard her say his name.

He just kept walking.


	16. Chapter 16

Hannah leaned out against the observation deck rail, secure on her cruiser but missing her little ship, the _Orizba_. She missed the sheer rush of exploring, discovering planets that humans had yet to see, taking survey of asteroids as yet uncharted.

 _This is decidedly more important, though_ , she admitted to herself, a small smile tugging at her lips as she stared out at the massive project, the greatest endeavor, the greatest hope of over a dozen species.

The Crucible was nearing completion, earlier than first scheduled thanks in no small part to Hannah's fiesty ball of blue tolerance. The famous Commander Shepard, healing rifts and wars that had gone on for centuries in a matter of weeks. It was hard not to be proud.

Or to feel worried.

Even knowing her daughter had allies aplenty, in the light and hidden in shadow, it still bothered her at what this all pointed to. A standoff with a machine no one knew how to operate, just a vague notion, a wish, a prayer, and a possible victory.

Or absolute failure.

The Admiral shook herself from that train of thought, unwilling to let in the worries that no doubt plagued her daughter. Hannah would do what she always did; she'd be the first in line to back up her kid and support her with all the manpower and ammunition that she could.

_Or maybe I'd be the second in line ..._

Following that train of thought was very much not comfortable these days, especially after more digging brought to light more information than she'd expected. He'd been behind the weapons drop at the Skyllian Blitz, the last burst of ammo that had saved her daughter's platoon in the final, desperate minutes of the fight. Councilor Sparatus had not stinted in his support of her daughter, and if rumor was true, he'd been the first to to call in his resources and figure out exactly what it was the commander would need to pull some kind of retaliation force together.

And then there was last year, when it turned out her daughter was still alive...

i _"Mom, the motherfuckin' bastards aren't listening to me. They say I've practically gone rogue and to hell with anything I've ever done._

_AND SPARATUS. I thought out of the batch, he was the one with the most sense! He was always sneaking me intel and slapping me with extra gear. You know what he did? That asshole fucking AIR-QUOTED ME. LIKE HOW YOU DO IT. Do Turians even know what that MEANS? I felt like I was 15 again and had just drug home that one kid, remember? The one you caught me making out with in your be-"/i_

Hannah covered her face with her hand, remembering the shame and how it made her blush with embarassment. He air-quoted at her daughter. She wondered- no, she  _knew_  he'd done it on purpose. Did he know how much it drove her daughter crazy? Probably not. But then again-

Her omni-tool blipped. She opened the interface. Speak of the devil.

"Hey, kiddo," Hannah said, giving her daughter her brightest smile. Her fears be damned, her daughter would never see her afraid. "I hear you're doing good wo-"

"I got something to tell you, Mama."

_Mama. Oh no. Serious conversation time._

Hannah shifted away from the rail, frowning at the 2D image of her daughter's open face, so like her own. "I'm here. What do you need?"

The commander smiled up at her. "No, it's not like that. I just um. I needed to confess something to you. You're going to want to sit down for this."

_Oh god. She's pregnant._

Hannah made her way to a bench not far away, settling in and crossing her legs. The glow of the project radiated the observation take in soft light, making it easy to see. She nodded at the interface screen, took a deep breath. "Alright. What's up?"

Her daughter took a moment to collect her thoughts. Her eyes flicked down in what looked almost like shame, but the smile that played across her lips said something else. And Hannah was always good at reading expression.

"I found out who'd been making 'adjustments' with all my purchases. It spread from the Citadel to every supplier in the known galaxy. The attempt was to be subtle, but I think it stopped to matter a few days ago."

Hannah blinked. This ... was unexpected.

The call continued. "The new Turian Primarch was given an ultimatum by the Turian Councilor Sparatus. I needed a few fighters for my situation on Tuchanka, and apparently there was some heel dragging. I intercepted a message between Sparatus and Primarch Victus that said, and I quote, 'Give her what she wants or I'll break your face with my massive star-cruiser. She's our last best hope and she's cleaning up your mess. Don't be a turd, Victus. I know where you live and I have pictures of every girl you ever shacked up with.'"

The Admiral couldn't think of a response. She just stared.

"It goes on for about three pages, too. I thought it was kind of funny, Mom, that his letter was peppered with all kinds of swear words and phrases that you use. And then I remembered that Councilor Sparatus is the only Turian I've ever seen through quotes at me during a conversation.

"And then a few days ago, he asked me about you."

Hannah's hand flew to her mouth.

"Mom? Hey... Mama, are you  _crying?_ "

Before she could respond, there was a commotion through the viewport. Ships were jumping into range, a small fleet, and then a really, large, massive ship-

_The Destiny Ascension._

Hannah turned back to her daughter's floating visage above her arm.

"What did you DO, you brat?" she gasped, jumping up and running to the window.

"Mom, this war is changing everything, but it's especially changing how much time all of us thought we'd have." Hannah stared as the star cruiser made to dock, let's signalling across it's bow that yes, the full council was on board. "Don't tell me you don't care, either, or that there are more important things right now. You know this is why we do this job.

"You know it's why I fight, too. And I know..."

Here, her powerful, confident daughter faltered. Her voice broke. She cleared her throat and lifted her chin just in time for her mother to catch it.

"And I know the real reason why you wear make-up every day. It isn't because you look old. Because you know you don't."

Now Hannah Shepard really started to cry; it didn't even surprise her that the face she was staring in to was as well. "... oh... oh, sweetheart, I-"

"And Mama ... if I'm going to have the balls to sport Turian clanmarks after tonight, then you're going to have to man-up and do the same. I'm just sad you beat me to the punch."

Hannah gave a choked laugh. "Oh, baby..."

"Shut up, Mama. I love you. Go find him. And get laid. And tell him that apparently, the fetish for Turians is now a genetic disease."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twelve months after Commander Shepard was lost on Alchera, having reportedly gone down with the Normandy.

Hannah stood on the edge of the old ravine on Shanxi, staring down into the green dark and wondering why the hell she was here.

She was due some real shore leave, and no one really questioned why she took it on this old colony. The outpost was big enough to occupy most of her crew for the weekend, and hell, with as rigorous as her exploration routes tended to be, they took the rest when she offered it.

Still... it didn't explain why she wanted to come here.

Scans showed that the oasis was still the same, one of the few sources of renewable water in the area. The little ridge she and Sparatus had perched on before making their way back into their respective societies was still there. She stood right above it, looking down, wondering if she'd break her neck.

And there was no Turian to catch her at the bottom this time.

It had never occured to her that he would care so much. About her, yes; time had taught her that they were meant for each other, one of those star-crossed sappy couples that they write songs about. Except they wouldn't, not about them. Because she'd let it fall apart. She had refused to acknowledge just how much he had loved her in that it hadn't just included her scampering, limber, pyjak ass, but that of her bouncing, vivacious, head-smashing, curb-stomping baby girl. Letting herself be blind to the signs and thinking he cared because she cared... she'd lost him. She'd completely underestimated his depth of affection for all things Hannah Shepard.

He had walked away and she had let him. Because she was stupid.

_And now it's time for me to pay for my stupidity._

Standing above their private little paradise, Hannah shook her head to clear it. This was why she was here. She needed to focus.

On her butt, she scooted down carefully and turned over, finding footholds and working her way down the wall to the canyon floor. The scent of green and water rushed over her, bringing with it the memory of him underneath her, the feel of three-fingered hands stroking up her back, tangling in her hair...

On her feet again, she brushed her palms self-consciously across her barren scalp. She'd taken clippers to it the night she'd lost Sparatus, and coupled with the loss of her daughter it was the only way she'd found herself again. She didn't want to analyze what that meant, or the thousands of cases where distraught, grieving women hacked off their hair in order to feel better.

She was stunned it worked.

Vanity still wounded, it was hard to get used to the sudden lack of weight attached to her head, or the trade-mark bun she always wore. There was a freedom too, unexpected, like she'd not only cut off several pounds of hair, but the weight of several decades of heavy sorrow. And the last year of unimaginable loss.

She traced her footsteps back down along the stream, letting her eyes adjust to the organic, mellow twilight of the crevice. The over-hang she and her lover had found was still there, complete with the bed of moss he'd found so interesting. It had overgrown in the decades since, plush and creeping up along the walls.

She had a bio-pack ready for it, and within minutes she'd gathered about half of what was growing. More scans showed that the lichen would replenish easily in this environment, so she left with little guilt over her biological sabotage. She pulled herself out of the alcove and swung herself up along the ravine wall, climbing back up.

In an effort to distract herself from her pain, Hannah had taken up a few new hobbies, even going so far as to install a climbing wall in her cargo bay. It kept her limber and flexible, coupled with the other rigors she put her body through to keep herself in shape.

Her face, peeking above the edge as she hauled herself over, had the signs of a woman in her maturity, but suppliments and the enhanced diet of a spacer lengthened her life just as it did with her fellow humans these days. Long surpassing a hundred years as their life expectancy, it was generally the Asari who were credited for their medical advances at keeping the decaying signs of age at bay. Youth was still just as short as it always was, but the golden years of body strength, flexibility, and mental clarity were incredibly extended, depending on genetics and individual. Hannah had long since lost the soft curves on her face that marked many people in their twenties, but she was far from gaunt. Her face was still uncommonly round, skin smooth and hair unchanged, body toned and agile. There were more laugh wrinkles around her eyes, but her lips were still soft, her eyes sharp and bright.

She still made people smile when she walked into a room, and her laughter still turned heads. Even with her hair hacked off.

Life was still hollow, though, since her daughter had gone missing and she'd unceremoniously kicked Sparatus from her life. Or let him kick her from his.

She sighed, shook herself again.

Bio-organic treasure safely sealed, she tossed it in the co-pilot's chair and started up her shuttle. She'd be back to the colony by nightfall.

* * *

 

"I don't care how great of a find it is, Daveen. Can you do it?"

The Salarian hmphed at Hannah as she stood there, hip cocked and arms over her chest. "You've gotten so short-tempered since the loss of your progen- hair," he amended quickly, flinching at the light that flared briefly in her eyes over his almost-disrespectful-comment. "When it grows back, will your previous tempermant return?" His hands passed over the controls of his console, keying up the information Hannah wanted.

She growled at him, a feral, Turian noise that made him jump in his chair. He stared at her. "That ... was just  _uncanny_ -"

"I swear to God, Daveen, I will pull off my boot and beat you to death with it. Answer the damn question."

He flinched again, hit a button, and the disc popped out of his personal computer. He handed it to her, as well as gesturing to the large, capped flask that dispensed from a panel in the wall. "All yours, minus the quarter you gave me as payment. It's an incredble find, amazing that we haven't found it before-"

"I told you," she mumbled, lifting the large flask and holding it up to the light. Still looked just like clear water to her. "Not many people really went spelunking through the caves of Shanxi. The Contact War soured the desire for survey."

"Mm, noted."

Hannah eyed her friend, her gaze softening a little. "Thank you for this, Daveen. I really do appreciate it."

He perked visibly at the return of her sweeter side, smiling and giving a little nod. "I am happy to help, and honored you chose me to study the species. Might have to name it after you, however, just for propriety's sake." He tapped his chin. "Hmmm.  _Fiestius humanus chloro-_  OW!"

Hannah put her boot back on, reaching out to retrieve the carefully placed beaker. She ignored Daveen scandalized expression while she placed it in her reinforced carrier sack. "And it'll stay bright? I mean, to Turian vision, it'll be that glowy, reflector-bright white?"

Daveen rubbed his arm, trying to glare at her. "It'll fade a little, maybe by ten degrees, but with enough illumination to catch, it will flash like, as you said, a reflector, but more like the scales on a fish. Irridescent, I guess, might be a better word." He pondered. "Yes. It will be somewhat hard to miss, but easy to conceal. Does that answer your question?"

Hannah nodded. Then... she stooped to kiss his cheek. The Salarian spluttered. "Oh-! Well I ... ah..."

She flashed him her brightest smile, then headed out the door.

The wards were busy as she exited the elevator down from the labs, but it was usually that way here on the Citadel. The lack of night-cycles here made it a free for all for everyone, but this was the peak for activity. She felt a flinch of worry for ther percious cargo, wondering irrationally if she'd be safe through the crowds, but she shook the fear off with a visible twitch.

 _You're doing this today,_ she thought angrily at herself.  _There's no backing out now. Don't make any excuses to stall._

She had to take a cab to a place further out along the arms of the Citadel, along the ward called 'Zakera'. The neighborhood she sought out was a hodgepodge of cultures and species, known for it's artistic, eccentric, and talented occupants.

The community here had a strange story, a small haven for all those who create, using the canvas of walls, buildings, whole streets, or other peoples' bodies. Jewelry, paintings, sculptures, utilitarian objects made into beautiful items, vehicles painted and worked into strange colors and shapes, tapestries, clothing... If you wanted handmade beautiful items, this was where you came if you didn't want to break your pocket. There was the uncommon air of a folk who created because it was their calling, not because they needed money.

The latter bit was probably because they  _were_  given a great deal, patrons coming far and wide to keep the population in this tiny corner of the wards well funded and well fed and content with their place. Far from being held prisoner, Hannah surmised that in a place where you were encouraged to make the world your canvas, an artist would find it hard to leave.

The address she'd been given led her to a small storefront that was, like everywhere else here, clean and well kept. She grazed a palm over the panel, identifying herself. It didn't surprise her when it chimed and the door slid open; she had an appointment.

The Asari within was probably one of the strangest Hannah had ever seen, with skin that was less amethyst or blue and more red, beyond the shade of violet. She wondered at first if this was due to a skin ailment, when the Asari moved closer and further into the light. Hannah's eyes widened in surprise.

The red flush of her skin, though a dark hue and far from bright, wasn't natural pigmentation. As she got closer, Hannah could see beautiful, swirling, tiny, intricate patterns crawling across flesh that was clearly dark, beautiful blue. It marked around her eyes, across her cheekbones, down her neck, her arms, her hands, her legs, even across her fringe, which, to the human's knowledge, was one of the more sensitive parts of the Asari body. To put a  _needle_  there-

"Hannah, yes?" purred the woman. Her lips were curved in an understanding smile, one hand resting on a nearby counter. "You're the one who asked all the questions about the Turian design."

Finally tearing her eyes away from the minute details of the Asari's tattoos, Hannah nodded. She undid the latch on her carrier and withdrew the flask. "Is this enough?" she asked.

The artist's eyes lit up with curiosity and pleasure, gently taking the container. It was easily a gallon of fluid, probably more than enough. Her nod confirmed this.

Hannah cleared her throat. "And you're alright with keeping the rest as payment? I can give you credits, that's not a pr-"

The Asari looked over her shoulder. "Menlaeus! Come here!" she called.

The back of the parlor was apparently a lead off into another room, as a door opened and a Turian with a shorter fringe and pale hide poked his head out. "Mmm?" he called. "Still with Shayla, Madea-"

He went silent as his eyes lit to the cylinder she held. "...oh wow," he murmured. "Is that what you were telling me about?" he breathed. Hannah had never seen a more non-Turian Turian. He was practically quivering with excitement, and from here, she could see his fingers stained with tattoo ink.

The Asari, Madea, nodded with a knowing smile. "She said we can keep what's left over," she practically purred. She turned back to Hannah. "Did the botanist say anything about replicating its features?"

Hannah shook her head while she passed Daveen's disc to Madea. "He said it was impossible, and that while the 'glow' might initially fade by a few degrees, it would still remain. Easy to conceal with make-up, he said, but otherwise..." She shrugged. "It's got a non-toxic preservative that's commonly used in the tattoo inks the Asari use. Ventis?"

Madea's eyes glowed with pleasure. "Venthys, yes. Good, good... this is perfect." She stared at it hungrily, her smile widening as the Turian came closer, eyes round and wide. "This will keep you supplied with touch-ups and additional work for the rest of your life, my dear. This is a treasure you've found, and a brilliant idea." Her expression softened as she gazed at the human. "Your lover would have been pleased."

Hannah ducked her head and tried not to shuffle her feet. She hadn't told the Asari everything, but she knew enough to know the human loved a Turian deeply... and had lost him. Hannah cleared her throat and lifted her face, willing the tears away. "Where do we do this?" she asked, her voice rough with emotion.

The Turian retreated to his client as Madea led her to another room off to the right, down a hallway and into a room with a spectacular view of the Wards. "I've gone over your design a few times," she artist explained as she settled Hannah into the chair, tilting it back as she scooted closer. Hannah heard a rustle of tools and equipment, and the careful removal of the flask cap. "I've modified it to your species, rank, and, per your request, your status as a mother of ... of a great woman."

Hannah had to look away from the sympathy in Madea's eyes; that wouldn't do right now.

Settling her head back against the chair, she closed her eyes as the Asari began to carefully mark Hannah's skin in preparation for the ink-loaded needle.

* * *

 

Hannah knew it had worked. There wasn't a Turian that would keep his eyes off her when she left the tattoo parlor.

She was being too bold; for all she knew, any one of them would have reported back to the Turian councillor and revealed what she'd done. After the first block, she slid into a restroom and rubbed the concealer into her skin. It was a cream-based pigment, semi-permenant and long-lasting, and fairly weightless. She really couldn't tell the difference as she looked into the mirror; it was a little like rubbing moisturizer into her skin.

 _Just as well_ , she thought. No one would guess what this was if they ever found it among her things.

Her new test passed with flying colors; while previously, most Turians couldn't keep from staring at her, this time, she was given hardly a first or second glance.

Back in her quarters on her ship, after she'd given her face a good scrubbing, she pulled up the program on her omni-tool that Daveen had set up for her and turned the lights off in her bathroom. She passed the transparent screen over her face, staring hard at the mirror.

And gasped.

Clear as everyone had said, a soft white that bordered on glowing, the clanmarks of Sparatus flowed gracefully across the features of her face.

Madea had indeed modified the design as she'd said. The lines were slimmer, more elegant to fit her human features. Hannah had fears of peering out of a mask that made her look like an owl, or a ghost, but the Asari had a deft touch; Hannah looked... she looked ...

 _I look ... complete_.

The subtle sweep of line, a curve or length that wasn't typical of anything she'd seen ... This was her mark, her face framed in a declaration of who she was, despite how presumptuous she was being. Her fingers traced the path that blazed across the bridge of her nose and went up to her brow, followed the gap up into the newly-bare skin across her crown.

Madea had to shave down the center of her head. The line that parted the crown of her lover now split down her own skull. She intended to let her hair grow over that line; Madea assured her the mark would still be visible. For now, Hannah would have to do a little creative french-braiding until her hair grew , the Asari's modifications didn't require Hannah to lose her eyebrows or her lashes.

She studied her face for a little longer, examination leading to pensive musing, which led to sorrow and a few tears. With a groan of self-resentment, she flipped off the program and stumbled back towards her bed, hand dipping under it on her way to her desk for a bottle. Hannah was not by nature a drinker, but the last few months had been hard.

First, there was the dedication to her daughter, and then the Plaza they built, tacked with their family name and emblazoned in every known language that could be written. Then the posthumus awards, the memorial dinners...

She took a drink.

Then there were the denouncements, the denials, and the careful erasure of reports, records, findings, and claims.

Hannah blamed herself; if she'd been less of an ass to Sparatus, maybe he'd have a better memory, or a clearer head, or hells, a toughter spine.

She knew she couldn't control him, but he'd come to her when he thought she'd neaded him most. He hadn't been wrong. And she had ... she had ...

She took another drink.

Later, passing out, wrung clean of tears and wrongs, all she could think of was how she'd punished herself by bearing his marks. Now she couldn't forget him even if she tried.

Even if she wanted to.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crucible outpost, during the Reaper War.

To say Hannah Shepard was nervous was probably the biggest understatement ever.

She couldn't make herself stand at the dock with the other people of note, line up and salute as the council boarded. Just watching the ship dock with hers had set her shaking, her teeth chattering with anxious nerves. Torn between elation and terror, she'd all but bolted to her quarters and threw herself into her shower.

The pounding hot water did nothing for her nerves. She's hoped that her emotions and passions had mellowed with age, and believed for a while there that she had... but here she was again. Hands shaking, breath stolen, rubbing her face over and over under the torren of water trying to clear her brain.

After about an hour, she decided it wasn't working.

Her reflection in the steam-painted mirror was no help. Hannah was sure she was mocking herself, a grimace in glass and water painted with heat and air.

 _The jig is up_ , she thought.  _If he doesn't know that you care, he will soon._

Her eyes flicked to the disguised bottle of concealer on her counter.  _Or not._

Chewing on her bottom lip, she grabbed the jar and a towel, contemplating the former as she wound the latter around her body.

It wouldn't hurt to cover up and meet with him now, try and gauge if her daughter was correct with her feelings or if she was jumping the gun. Hannah didn't know if she could handle the drama of presenting herself to the Turian councilor with every Turian in the room able to see the marks on her face.

 _Yeah no. No, I think discretion is going to win out here._  She worked the lid as she left her bathroom, plopping down on her bed with an irritated grunt as the jar refused to open.

"Dammit," she swore softly.

"Troubles?" Sparatus asked politely from where he stood at her desk.

"No, the damn jar won't-"

Hannah shot to her feet with a startled inhale, and her towel decided her abrupt change in position was too much for it.

So there she was, eyes wide, dripping on her floor, butt naked with a jar of concealer in her hands that still refused to open.

And a Turian staring at her face like he'd been hit by a truck full of Krogan cheeleaders. Male ones.

With batons.

Regardless of where her talents lay as a diplomat and an admiral, Hannah was still a soldier, and naked or not she was not imobile.

Or so she kept telling herself.

It was those eyes, green and piercing and wide with surprise, riveted to her face with an expression of shock and somewhat else she couldn't place. His mandibles were flared and she swore his fringe bristled along his crest. She kept telling herself to move. She needed to move.

Her eyes finally listened to her, tearing away from his face for a split second to glance at the door, but it served only to warn Sparatus of her desire. Still bristling, he growled low in his throat and took a step towards her. The action freed the adrenaline she needed to move, pulling her legs under herself and lunging into a dash for the door.

In her fifties, she was in damn good shape, and she completely ignored her nudity as she dove under Sparatus's arm and slapped her hand against the door lock. She actually made it four steps outside before the two sets of guards, one human, one Turian, immediately stepped in front of her.

Naked, startled, and panting, she had about a half second to accept their immobility before a pair of strong, long, powerful arms swept her back and threw her unceremoniously over the shoulders they belonged to.

Presenting her very fine rear to everyone in the hallway.

"See, gentlemen?" Sparatus rumbled over Hannah's indignant curses, orders, and screaming. "I told you; foreplay." And with their chuckles, he turned back around and walked into her quarters, keying the door to lock behind him.

Embarassed beyond all borders, Hannah flailed until he deposited her on the bed. She was on her feet in a moment, daring to glare up at the two feet he had on her.

"This is an absolute  _outrage!_ " she screamed at him, her face red, practically spitting anger at him. "In front of my own- and you just- I thought you would- ...AND YOU BROUGHT THEM INTO IT-"

Sparatus leaned over and gripped her behind the knees, yanking them so she feel backwards, and kept her thighs open as he leaned over her, completely clothed and totally pinning her.

It took her a few more spluttered sentences before she realized what he was doing; he was purring.

When she went quiet, barely seething and just staring at him, his hands threaded into her hair and framed her face in his hands. His eyes ran over the marks she knew he could see, slowing taking in every addition, every modification, tracing a spot with his thumb, tilting her head to see how far a mark went.

While he examined her, she did the same to him. Time had been pretty easy on him, but it could have just been her own biased affection. His darker than before, supple and matte, his fringe longer and sharper, his shoulder broader. Some of the edges of his spurs and ridges were longer, like bone growths, and his eyes...

His eyes were as verdant green and glowing with life as the first time she sank into them.

She didn't notice she was trembling until her teeth began to chatter, and not from cold. Emotion, decades of pent up something-or-other and the ache of loss the last several years, was welling up in her chest, a fountain of anxiety that increased with every second he stayed silent. When the tears started to fall, she gasped his name, a plea for ... anything. He shushed her with the brush of a thumb across her lips.

She closed her eyes when he ran his other hand across the bridge of her nose, tracing the lines of his marks on her skin, traveling up and up until... he paused.

"You ... cut it? Was this because of the design...?" he asked, letting the question hang, eyes traveling up the lines he could see and the stripe that split her crown. She flushed, knowing what he spoke of.

The unexpected side-effect of the lichen was obvious about a month after the inking, when her hair grew back in everywhere but where she'd been inked. It struck her a ironic, and perhaps fitting punishment for how she'd dismissed him. Careful french-braiding hid the naked slash of skin, or other such clever disguising.

She squirmed in his grip, and softly explained the issue with the ink, blushing.

_What am I, 18?_

"It's the same such stuff, then? From the ravine..." He tilted his head and looked directly into her eyes. "Did you go back just to get this, Hannah?"

With a wiggle of hip and a twist of her pelvis, she freed her legs enough to wrap them around his lean waist, hooking her knees around and squeezing him into her. He gave a soft grunt but was otherwise unsurprised, giving her that Turian smile that she'd missed so much and dream of so often.

He drew a tress around one of his fingers, twirling it around and around, his eyes never leaving hers at the deliberate, familiar caress. He purred when she sighed his name and squeezed him closer, mandibles spreading as he brought his head close and gently kissed her chin.

"Shut up," he murmured. "We have some catching up to do. The men outside have been given orders not to disturb us for at least eight hours-"

Hannah spluttered.

"-by someone who far outranks me," he added.

She blinked at him. "The Prim-"

"Come now. Even  _he_  can't pull those kind of strings right now."

He drew his talon down the line of her jaw as she frowned, confused. Then it dawned on her and her cheeks burned pink.

"That little-"

"She's your spitting image, you know," he murmured, something in his tone dampening the fire before it'd even sprung. "It's been hard all these years not to ask about you whenever I spoke to her, had a moment alone or just ran into her. She's tall, and proud, and she holds her shoulders like a soldier and whips her sniper rifle up just like a Turian infiltrator." The pride came off him in waves. She had a hard time keeping him focus; her vision was starting to swim. "Though I hear there's at least one big, tall, Vakarian reason for that."

The way he waggled his brow plates at her made her laugh despite the water in her vision and the choke in her throat. Her arms drew around his neck and she pressed her face into his throat, between his cowl and his neck, and sighed to feel his purr grow louder and his own embrace wind about her.

"I'm so sorry-" she began, the ache and the need to breathe returning. He shushed her and kissed her neck, tightening his grip on her.

"Shut up, you stupid pyjak," he whispered in her ear, drawing back to kiss her. "We're not wasting time on stupid misunderstandings and emotional outbursts. Alright?" He tilted her chin to bring her eyes to his.

She bit her lip, feeling the years slip away; she was younger and caught up in his eyes, distracted and lost and drowning in him, his sharpness, his tender regard. She nodded quickly and whispered, "Alright."


	19. Chapter 19

He took his time getting to know her body again, insisting that she let him touch her and stroke her in all the places he missed and many he'd never had the chance to before.

He joined her in her nudity and stretched her out on the bed, laid her on her belly and clasped her wrists in his hands. Her cheek pressed to her arms, she looked at him with warm eyes as he took in her skin, her shape, her changes.

But of the latter, there really weren't that many. Kept in good shape by dilligence and training and the passive inaction of good genetics, it was hard to go to seed when your body was still well maintained and cared for. She may have had a white hair or two she hadn't before, but it was hard to see amidst the thick, boundless mass of her hair. Sparatus remarked on her laugh lines and showed her his own, fondled her bottom and told her he like that it was 'softer than last I handled it', which both made her splutter, laugh, and flush with feminine pride.

He wasn't satisfied with petting and simple caressing for too long, though Hannah was near drunk with pleasure and love by the time he changed the game. He guided her wrists to the headboard of the bed, and a groove carved just at mattress level.

"Your hands stay here, or I stop. Understood?" His voice was rough, commanding, laced with a growl of hunger that made her shiver and her eyes go wide.

When she nodded, he slid down the length of her, pausing to kiss the dimples of her lower back, and then rub his cheek against the curve of a buttock. She squirmed on her belly but kept her grip, craning her head to watch his descent.

She felt his hands spread her thighs, and then a pillow edged under her hips, effectively propping her legs open before-

...before-

Hannah was dimly aware of her face contorting in shock and pleasure as his long, prehensile tongue slide easy and smooth along the seam of her sex. Thighs twitched open in invitation and she arched her spine, hips tilting. The breath she was holding exploded from her in a long, shameless cry, feeling his tongue snake up and down, and then in-

Her body jerked and her legs spread shamefully wide, her sex seeping on to the bed, no doubt, with the lovely attentions he was giving her. Still, some part of her brain kept her fingers clutching at the headboard even as her hips thrust back, the poor woman groaning his name into the mattress as he added fingers.

She was lost to the sensation of it all; his warm breath, his searing tongue, those thrusting, curling fingers. In and out, in an out, he stroked her within, curving his fingers just so and pausing to scrape iteeth/i along the shape of her swollen clitoris. He kept her right on the edge too, not going to far, easing up a little before picking up the work again. He did this to her for what felt like hours, until she was drenched with sweat and shaking so hard her teeth rattled in her skull.

When she was right at the edge of tumbling over, when she was sobbing pleas of release and her knuckles were white from her grip, he withdrew from her completely. Her indignant cry of loss became a gasp of shock, when he pressed himself into her back and drew his teeth along the back of her neck. She could feel him, hard and hot, pressed into the cleft of her ass. Hot, suede smooth skin pressed all along her spine, making her shiver with more bliss as he ground teasingly against her.

His breathing was ragged, his muscles tense. His teeth stroked across the edge of her ear.

"You've marked yourself as mine," he murmured. "Are you saying you are, Hannah Shepard? Completely, honorably, always mine?"

Hannah shuddered beneath him, tilting her head into the warmth of his breath, the aggressive possession in his words, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

"Yes," she breathed.

He went still, and then shifted, and pushed, and the aching, hard length of him eased into her an inch. Hannah cried out and spread her thighs wider, but he didn't advance a breath further. She squirmed in vain.

"Shhh," he whispered to her, mandible flicking against her shoulder as the tip of his tongue edged her other ear. "I can keep you by my side..."

She moaned.

"...take you everywhere I go..."

"Yes..."

"Love you always ..."

"Yes yes..."

"...as my wife..."

She grew tight and whimpered as he completely pressed himself into her at that, the impressive length of him swelling deep and hard, her flesh stretching to accomodate him; there had been no other, and it had been so damn long. With him sank the words, and she lay there beneath him panting, dazed with sensation and understanding.

"Sparatus-"

"Say it, Hannah. Tell me." He refused to move. She moaned his name again, pleading. He pulled back half an inch and thrust forward again. She almost broke apart.

Clawing at the blankets, she whimpered desperately and lifted her hips, begging.

"Say it, Hannah," he said again, arms braced on either side of her, held above her and curled over her. He rocked between her thighs, listening to her tender sobs, feeling her body shake and clench.

"Yours, Sparatus," she gasped. "Always yours, forever yours... please please..."

It was answer enough for him, and his growl of victory was followed by insistent, powerful thrusting. She cried out with every one, louder and louder, before going tight and straining, legs splayed wide, hips shuddering, mouth frozen in a silent scream. Stars exploded behind her eyes and she was dimly aware of her Turian roaring, emptying himself inside of her, a rush of wet heat that broke her silence with a desperate little whimper.

She went limp before he did, trembling against the mattress while he sagged above her panting. He dropped his head to brush lip plates across her shoulders, his mandibles fluttering, his breath feathering across her skin. She moaned his name and turned her head to him, and he oblidged her with a soft kiss.

"Wife?" he whispered to her, nuzzling her cheek.

"Husband," she sighed in agreement.

And everything felt right with the universe. At least right then.

But that was about to change.


	20. Chapter 20

Hannah was the image of calm standing on the bridge of her ship, watching the Citadel shudder and give off explosions off her starboard bow. Her shoulders were tight and she gripped the railing of the CIC so hard her knuckles were white, but she was still focused, intent, unflinching.

Inside she was screaming.

Sparatus was in about the same state. His mandibles were pulled so tightly inward it changed the geography of his face, a severe expression reserved for funerals, executions, and the stench of poor hygiene. He had a gentle grip on the Admiral's right shoulder, but she could feel the tremor of control that reverberated through him.

He was trying not to keen in grief.

Hannah didn't have the luxury either.

The Citadel was far from falling apart, and the Normandy was ordered to evacuate just in case... just in case...

There was a flash of light as the ship jumped, and Hannah braced herself against her Turian husband as the red light radiated from the Crucible, flaring out to embrace every ship, Reaper and Alliance, Asari, Krogan, Turian-

There was a ripple in the Universe, a shudder of change, and everyone felt it into their bones.

Sparatus was still next to her, squeezing gently and inhaling audibly beside her. He whispered a name.

The name she gave the infant in her arms over thirty years ago, the gentle gray eyes of a newborn staring up at her, quiet and thoughtful and only moments old.

Hannah closed her eyes and prayed.

Hannah Shepard worked around the clock. It wasn't that she refused to sleep, or that she wasn't aware of the passage of time, it was just that she couldn't.

Orders needed to be given and passed down, tallies had to be taken, organized troops needed to be sent where they were needed the post, survivors needed to be rescued, bodies needed to be found...

Her daughter would never forgive her for ignoring her duties in the wake of her fear.

She was at a breaking point when the news came; the Normandy was back, limping but whole, broadcasting questions, and her omnitool blipped from a personal message.

Standing in CIC (where else could she go?), she raised the note and was surprised to find it was an open commlink. A Turian face with blue clan marks and scars across the right side of his face.

"Garrus," she sighed. His worry was as deep and as jagged as her own.

"Admiral-" he began. Her heart wrenched. He sounded so tired.

"It's Hannah, now, you wingless, hollow-boned, son-of-a-bitch," she murmured, happy to see his mandibles twitch in amusement. "We need to forget the formalities. I know you're bonking my little girl. That's about as close to family as you get until you start popping out babies." His laughter came out as a choke, but it made her smile nonetheless. "I heard you were on the ground with her at the end," she continued, growing serious. "Anything you can tell me about ... about where we can find her...?"

A bit of steel came into his eye. He could do better than that.

The rail Hannah leaned against now was inside of a hospital unit, her brow mashing against the observation window, eyes shut, shoulders sagging with something akin to relief.

_We've got her. We've got her. The best in the Universe is watching out for her and they say she might even make it. We've got her. She's safe. No matter what happens..._

"I didn't expect to love her."

Hannah raised her head and turned to look at her husband. She blinked at him. When he felt her gaze on his face, he turned to return her look, head lowered in submission and confession.

"I knew I'd admire her, perhaps feel a bond of some kind as a mentor or a sponsor," he continued, the subvocals in his voice thick with emotion. "But watching her grow up from afar, hearing you talk about her, reading about everything she did... and then, letting myself stoop to spying on her as often as I could find a way..." His mandibles flared, then drew in again. He was looking down at their entwined fingers; he couldn't lift his eyes yet to hers.

"And then she came out of girlhood into a headstrong, intelligent, wise young woman, who made tough calls and followed her instincts and had every single bit of your charisma... All of the affection I'd had for her focused into the single moment she stepped before me the first time. I thought I would explode with pride. The line of her shoulders, the way she lifted her chin and stared right into me, like she wouldn't back down without a good, solid, bloody fight-"

Hannah drew her free hand up his cheek. He closed his eyes and tilted his head into her palm, a soft croon escaping him before he could stop himself. He was shaking, pressing into her side. She wound her arm around his neck and drew him down to her, feeling him press his face into her hair with a groan of anguish.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into his ear, closing her eyes as the tears overcame her again. "I'm sorry we weren't allowed to be a family."

A shudder rippled through him before his arms wound like bands of iron around her middle, crushing her against him. Silence reigned for several intense, long minutes.

And then he whispered back,

"Yes. But then, we always were anyway."


	21. Epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One year after the destruction of the Reapers.

 

 

"You don't have to do this."

"I know."

"It's a human custom."

"I understand that."

"Mom will completely accept it-"

Sparatus turned on the woman standing next to him, behind the closed double doors that led out into the main Council chamber on the Citadel. He grabbed her hand and forcefully wound it around his own, ignoring her indignant, unShepard-like squeak as he tugged her close.

"Your mother would flay me alive, skin me, and then deny me the rights to her body for several more decades if I didn't do this. That being said," he continued, clearing his throat, "I would personally kill anyone who was my place right now. You asked me. I said yes. And given that the groom is Turian, this isn't so far out of the realm of acceptance. I do expect you to follow a few of _our_ customs in this ceremony, in return." His mandibles flicked with amusement.

The Commander looked up at him, bristling with pride and looking for all the world like a nervouse bride to be. She looked beautiful, blushing and nervous with flowers in her hair. Sparatus couldn't help but think yet again of how much like her mother she looked. He squeezed her fingers and leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"Are you ready, my dear?" he murmured.

Shepard looked ahead and straightened her shoulders, taking a long, deep breath.

"Yeah, Dad. Let's do this."

 

 

FIN


End file.
